


Lessons

by ThePseudonym



Category: Bastion
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3475898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePseudonym/pseuds/ThePseudonym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kid keeps mementos from each of the lessons he has learnt in his life. A Hammer, a shield, a bandage on his arm, and many more. But how did he acquire them in the first place? Well, that's one story that has to start from the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hammer

**Author's Note:**

> So this story is basically going to be about how The Kid got some of his items and injuries in the past. Again, tell me if i should continue or discontinue, cause i don't want to waste my time, and check out my other stories on my profile if you like this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story is basically going to be about how The Kid got some of his items and injuries in the past. Again, tell me if i should continue or discontinue it, because i don't want to waste my time, and check out my other stories on my profile if you like this!

_Sometimes I like sitting beside the dying campfire like this, the last embers floating upwards, scorching my white hair._

_A rare peace of serenity in these hectic days._

_Then, I felt a presence behind me. It couldn't be The Kid, since he was off on an expedition to keep us all alive; and Zulf hasn't come out of the tent since The Kid saved his life for the second time. So, when a feminine voice spoke up quietly, I wasn't surprised._

_"Hi Rucks." Zia piped._

_"Hey" I rumbled, patting the spot on the log next to me as she sat down. After a few moments of silence while we both gazed at the stars, Zia spoke softly. "Do you think The Kid is gonna make it back?"_

_I was about to answer before she quickly spoke again "I mean, sure, he's got this far, but I've always been worried for him, to think that we all rely on him coming back." She paused uncertainly, but continued._

_"I mean, if he didn't come back, what would we do? Sit here until our food runs out?" I was silent for a few minutes, shifting myself so that I was more comfortable. "Zia. Have you ever heard the saying 'You can judge a man by his shoes'?"_

_She nodded, prompting me to continue. "Well, after meeting The Kid, everyone changes that saying into something a little different: 'You can judge a Kid by what he carries on his back'."_

_"Course" I said. "The Kid doesn't just carry any old items. He carries something for each memory that shaped who he is now. And take it from an old man, to trust a Kid, you need to know his personality, and therefore, his experiences._

_The first item he gains in his story is, of course, his Hammer. His Life-long Friend, who has stuck by his side through everything..."_

* * *

The first time The Kid noticed the Hammer he was 6. Far too young for him to need or know what such things were.

He was running around the house, trying to escape his laughing mother at bedtime when suddenly he was lying on the floor, with tunnel vision and a throbbing pain along the middle of his face.

"Admiring the ceiling are we?" his mother laughed, helping The Kid up and wincing at the bruise starting to form on The Kid's forehead. The Kid looked around for the source of the pain, and fixated on an object in the corner of the room.

A Hammer covered in dust.

After tucking in The Kid underneath the Pyth-covered sheets in his bedroom, she said told The Kid a story.

"Your father was a good man. He supported me by working throughout our marriage as a Mason, but when he finally finished his shift on the Walls, the war came, and the marshals started recruiting everyone able." Her face darkened, ageing 30 years, making The Kid shudder under the covers.

"The destruction, oh, the destruction! Arrows rained down over the walls, babies cried, and we screamed amongst the fires, but the war still continued, so of course, your father had to defend his home." She seemed totally lost in the memory by now, her voice emotionless and her eyes glazed over. "He set that Hammer down in the corner of the living room, kissed me on the cheek, hefted up his travel bag and left us, never knowing that you were about to be born..."

Tears leaked out of her eyes as she choked out the end of the story. "I never saw him again, never got any confirmation of death, or any of his belongings. And the Hammer just sat there in the corner gathering dust." She stroked The Kid's white hair absently.

"I'm too weak to carry it, and I could not bear to give away the last piece of my beloved." She chuckled dryly "I know it's stupid, but I still hope that someday he'll walk through the front door, pick up his Hammer, and everything would be back to normal…"

After the last word, The Kid's mother snapped out of the trance, kissed The Kid on the head, bid him goodnight abruptly and turned the light out. She swept out of the room like a ghost, leaving The Kid reminiscing over the last few minutes.

~~~~

Like any normal 6 year-old, temptation was too much for The Kid, and as he listened for the tell-tale sickly cough from his mother's bedroom, he slipped out of bed and sneaked downstairs to the corner of the living room. As he proceeded throughout the house, he walked on edge, with every creak being the possibility of a monster, each breath of wind his mother's dress swishing down upon him, flickers of moonlight mimicking a candle that she would've carried.

After stumbling throughout the dark, he finally got to the living room. Padding across the pitch black, he got within a few meters of the Hammer before he stubbed his toe on a toy train, sending it careening across the wooden floor in a seemingly deafening rattle.

Cursing silently, The Kid stood completely still, straining his ears to pick up any sound from his mother's door.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

After no sound for a few more seconds, The Kid composed himself and continued towards the Hammer. After admiring it from afar, The Kid got in close vicinity and placed his hands around the shaft, feeling the grip meld around his fingers and fit there comfortably. Despite the Hammer being the same height as himself, The Kid still tried to lift it, straining his muscles to the end of his endurance, never even moving it an iota.

Grumbling, The Kid let go of the Hammer, and aimed a kick it.

After getting a taste of karma and muffling the pain by biting into his arm, The Kid trudged back up to his room, not knowing the Hammer had learnt his palm and would remember it for the rest of their time together…

* * *

The next few years passed without incident, and the Hammer gathered dust again, becoming largely ignored, except for the habit that The Kid got into praying to the gods by it in the morning. It was while he was praying one day 4 years later that the next part takes place.

 _"Pyth, The Wakeful Bull, give me strength to be patient with people who jibe about my hair. Micia, The Lorn Mother, take care of my father wherever he may be-"_ The Kid stopped in mid prayer, sensing something different in the Hammer that he visited every day.

Whenever he used to pray, the grip always seemed too slippery, too big and unwieldy.

But now…

Now it felt perfect, holding his fingers in balance and comfort.

He tugged on the handle in excitement, using too much force, sending the Hammer flying backwards over his head, dragging The Kid with it, smashing into the kitchen table and sending a bowl of vine-apples flying everywhere.

As The Kid picked himself up from the splintered woodwork around him, he groaned, knowing how much a new table would cost, especially now that they his mother wasn't working due to her illness. At the moment they were living off his child benefits. As his mother rushed into the room, The Kid had a stroke of genius. Maybe he could go and work on The Walls to earn them some more money!

However, this thought process was stopped short by the furious glare from his mother. "How did you break the table THIS time?"

The Kid rolled his eyes. The other times weren't his fault!

Then her eyes lay on the Hammer resting in The Kids hands, and she seemed to grow younger by the second, her eyes shining. "You picked it up! It's yours now! I'm so proud of you!" After a few minutes of his mother hugging him, The Kid cut her rejoicing short by explaining his plan to join the Walls to get them some more money.

Typical of mothers, the first thing The Kid's said was: "But what about school?"

The Kid was about to respond, but she put her hand up. "Now, I know you don't like the bullies and how you don't think you're smart enough to continue, but you can't just give up!" After arguing for a good hour, they agreed on The Kid going back to school after they were rich when his 5 years were up.

After readying himself for the journey, and checking his saddlebag once more, The Kid made sure he had enough food for the trek to The Walls slinging it over his back and strapping his Hammer alongside it. The Kid didn't really have any friends, so the only person he had to say to say goodbye to was his mother.

Lightly pushing open the door to her room, The Kid peered into the room slowly, not wanting to wake her up, since she was now bed-bound with the sickness spreading throughout her body. Reaching her side, the light from crack in the doorway lighted up her face slightly.

The Kid tried to memorize everything about her. Her pure white hair, her weary face, which was now at peace, and the subtle hitching of her breath that showed that the illness has spread to her lungs. Kissing the top of her head lightly, The Kid turned around and started walking towards the part of the Walls he could see in the distance.

~~~~

After several weeks of hiking, The Kid finally got to one of the enlistment stations for The Masons, joining at the back of an endless line, full of strong and fit adults.

Fortunately however, none of them had Hammers.The Kid hoped that would give him some favour in being accepted.

Unfortunately, The Kid's hope was chipped away, person by person, as the line went on. The amount of rejected candidates seemed to be almost all of the people in the line, and they had to do the walk of shame back down the line to the airway at the entrance with their failed acceptance slips clutched loosely in their hands.

Course, The Kid didn't have an Skyway pass, so if he failed to get in, he had to walk back the whole way, without any food.

Failure was not an option.

The Kid was worried out of his mind as he reached the front of the line, but of course, on the outside, he looked as stoic as always. Ringing the bell to be served, The Kid tried to stand up straighter, making himself taller so that he could see over the top of the counter.

An assistant finally came, glanced at The Kid and shuffled some file work, saying "Hey Kid, can I help you? Need to send a letter to your mom or dad?" The Kid grimaced, and shook his head, tapping the request sheet to sign up to the walls impatiently, hoping to get the message across.

"You want to sign up to The Walls?!" The Assistant look incredulous, as if he thought it was all just a practical joke.

The Kid stared him down viciously, and nodded his head curtly.

After The Assistant had stopped laughing himself breathless, he spluttered out "Kid, come back when your 20, then we'll see. Believe me; I'm saving your life. You're just a child."

_Child?!_

Despite all of Pyth's teachings The Kid was taught at school, The Kid lost his temper, twirling his Cael Hammer from his back and smashing it against the marble paving stone beside him, sending a resounding 'CRACK!' throughout the atrium.

The assistant jumped, startled, then looked down, raised an eyebrow and jerked a thumb to a sign behind him, standing up while chuckling "Well that's a different matter entirely!" As The Kid peered at the wall behind the man, and read the sign, which said "Candidates with a Cael Hammer will be subjected to a different test for direct placement on the Walls." The Kid processed it for a second too long.

_Different test?_

Turning around just in time, The Kid was able to see the assistant charging him down with a Cael hammer held sturdily in both hands.

~~~~

The Kid just had time to roll out of the way, before the Hammer destroyed the marble surface where he was just located, setting his teeth on edge with the vibrations that went through the ground.

However, the man recovered quickly, swinging his Hammer around like a bat. The Kid brought his Life-long Friend to block the strike on the shaft, pushing the head of the assistants Hammer away from his face with force, sending the man stumbling back.

Years of being bullied and living in a bad neighborhood had given The Kid honed senses for danger, and more than enough fighting experience for a simple duel.

The Assistant bounced back rapidly, and tried for a uppercut, but The Kid side-stepped and smashed the Hammer against the back of the adult's legs as hard as he could, crippling him for a few seconds. Bounding back to give himself some room, The Kid watched The Assistant get up, crick his neck and set his hammer once more. Taking the offensive, The Kid wound up his Life-long Friend for a heavy strike against the shoulder, but the attendant merely danced away, laughing.

"You're broadcasting your moves too much Kid. You ain't gonna catch me at that rate."

Gritting his teeth, The Kid attacked once again, attempting to get in close and begin to grapple. Once again the attendant eluded him, this time repaying The Kid with a jab at his side with his hand.

Spasming for a moment, The Kid backed up and reviewed his tactics.

Obviously he couldn't hit the man straight on. The adult was too strong, and much too fast. Somehow, he'd have to trick him.

It was all or nothing.

Pushing his doubts aside, the white haired boy threw his Hammer straight at the older Cael. The Attendant merely ducked, and looked at The Kid incredulously. "Did you really think that was going to hit me?"

Ignoring the taunting words, The Kid started running full-pelt at him. Seeing the approaching danger, the attendant lifted his hammer up to end the engagement.

However, this was his mistake. With the attendant's hammer swinging freely, The Kid slid underneath it and through the adult's legs, hoisting up his Life-long friend that was waiting for him on the other side.

For once in his life, size was on his side.

With the attendant off balance due to the momentum of the failed strike, and with The Kid in an advantageous position, The Kid stabbed against the back of the Cael's knees with his feet, sending him to the ground.

The Kid was about to ask for a surrender until heard a voice from behind him.

"A bold tactic, and good technique in close combat, but how do you fare against foreign weapons?" The Kid turned around and saw Marshal Quinby, a famous War Hero.

He walked towards The Kid, his Brushers Pike a blur, spinning around in his hands and hypnotizing The Kid with the motion.

Quinby lunged forward, nearly skewering The Kid there and then, had The Kid not been limply holding his Hammer in front of himself.

The Marshal pushed The Kid to his limits, not allowing him any breathing room, while The Kid weaved and rolled between slices and stabs. Eventually the marshal got in a lucky slice across the edge of The Kid's calf, and The Kid stumbled, losing his balance. Seizing his chance, Quinby swept the pike under The Kid's legs, making him fall to the ground on his back, groaning in pain. The Marshal, thinking the battle was over, pulled the pike to an upright position, turned on his heel and walked away, calling behind him.

"You're good, Kid, but we need the best, especially if we're going to accept a **child** like you. We need real fighters like-" He hesitated, half-turning around to identify the shift in air around the room, when the ground exploded up from behind him, sending Quinby and the pike hurtling in different directions, smashing into walls and strewing rubble everywhere.

The Marshal coughed up some blood and spat it out, his eyes wide in amazement. With difficultly, his focused his eyes on The Kid, who was standing in front of him, a hand stuck out in companionship.

He **hated** being called a child.

The Marshal grasped it, and pulled himself up. "You have any Mason blood in you by any chance? Not anyone can pull a Stunning Wallop out like that without the proper training..."

The Kid didn't respond.

Shrugging, The Marshal brushed himself off quickly. "Well, anyway, despite your age, we sure could use someone like you on our side if there's another war..." Quinby stroked his jawline, and patted The Kid on his shoulder. "What do you say to being the youngest person to work on The Rippling Walls?"

The Kid glanced back, taking one last look at the clock tower on the horizon that marked out the city where his mother currently lived.

He turned back and nodded.

* * *

_"And so, The Kid's learnt his first life lesson: No matter who you are, how old or weak, with the right tools, anybody can create their own future._

_Now the next chapter, you know that bandage the Kid has wrapped around his left hand and wrist? Well... it's certainly not a pleasant story..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the story!  
> If you want, feel free to check out my other works, and like always, Comments and Kudos would be much appreciated, I would really like it if i could get some feedback and maybe some constructive criticism to try and improve on. But again, I’m not going to force you.


	2. Bandage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this chapter, I just want to say thanks for reading this.  
> I mean, I know that this Fandom is extremely small, so it really means a lot to me when I actually see people reading my works, not to mention giving me Kudos or commenting.  
> So thanks, it really gives me more incentive to continue writing, especially since, as you've probably guessed from my erratic uploads, i don't do regularly.

_“Now the next chapter, you know that bandage The Kid has wrapped around his left hand and wrist? Well... it’s certainly not a pleasant story....”_

_Zia looked up at me eagerly. “Well? Go on! Continue the story!” I returned her gaze, and spoke slowly and solemnly. “This next part Zia, it’s not all fun and games like my other stories. This impacted The Kid’s life more than he would like to admit."_

_I met her curious gaze unflinchingly. "Imagine being his age, 11 at the time, already served 1 year out of 5 on The Walls, and having something like what I’m about to tell you happen, right before your eyes, helpless to  do anything.”_

_I rubbed my temple in discomfort. This was not going to go well._

_“I bet you wonder why the kid is always moody, right? Is always serious? Well, that’s all down to this memory. It all starts with The Kid being abruptly woken by a rather unfriendly voice…”_

* * *

 

For his first year, The Kid was sent to the southern section of the Walls, or more precisely, the part defending the forges, where all of the weapons, tools and metalwork for the city were made. This of course, was the section of the city that was the furthest away from the Tazal Terminals, so that the Ura would have had the least amount of chance to get control of our superior technology and weapons during the war.

Sure, the war had long since ended by this time, but you can’t exactly up and move whole forges now can you?

So, because of this, all new recruits are sent there to learn the rules of The Walls, and to receive training for building and defending them. The best place to train someone is away from all the action, after all.

Course, The Kid had already proven his worth as a natural fighter and Mason worker, so Marshal Quinby privately tutored him, teaching him in the forges how to improve his hammer, refine tools and even how to make his own weapons.

Over the year that the kid was at the forges, Quinby became like a father-figure to the Kid, replacing the empty space in The Kid’s life that he had never noticed. Every day, Quinby would walk into The Kid’s tent with his pike standing proudly beside him, and set him a task in the forges for the day.

However, on the day this story starts, things happened a little differently…

* * *

 

The Kid was sleeping soundly for the first time in the year that he had been away from his mother, until it was cut short by an aggravating tone.

“Yo, Pipsqueak! Get out here! Don’t think just because Quinby has some kind of weird fascination with you I won’t come in there and kick your ass out of bed!”

The Kid groaned, folding his Bedroll over his head in an attempt to block out the sound of shouting coming from outside the tent. The voice outside the tent seemed to become angrier at the inactivity inside the tent.

“Oh, let me guess! Quinby’s favourite thinks he’s owed a few more hours of sleep! Hah, you’re just a Kid! You shouldn't even be here if you can’t tolerate the working hours!”

In a flash, The Kid was dressed, with his Life-Long Friend slung across his back, rolling out of the tent and glaring at the owner of the voice.

“Uh, oh!” The man said, pretending to cower. “The princess is upset! Did I interrupt your beauty sleep? Something tells me you need it!”

The Kid merely brushed past the man without a second glance, and set off down the path to the command post of this section of The Walls.

The man was called Wyatt, and had taken a disliking to The Kid ever since he had signed up for The Walls alongside him. He seemed to take it as a personal insult that The Masons had allowed The Kid to enlist at all. He took every opportunity to state to people how it was dangerous for a ‘Scrawny Child’ to be on The Walls, when each Mason was supposed to watch each other’s backs. The Kid knew that many of the other workers agreed with his opinion, but no one except for Wyatt dared contest the Marshals face-to-face.

Groaning mentally when Wyatt jogged a few paces to catch up to him, The Kid prepared himself for yet another lecture on how things should **really** be run.

Surprisingly, however, the man gave The Kid a briefing on the day so far. “Yeah, so Quinby sent me down to get you as they needed him at some temporary command post. I don’t know why, he just sent a runner for me to get you, so it looks like you’ll be working in the forges with the rest of us today.”

He blew air out of his mouth in such a way that The Kid couldn't describe it as anything other than a ‘harrumph’.

“What are you looking at me like that for? Let’s face it, if you were told to go off and fetch me, you’d be pretty pissed off as well!” he exclaimed. Nodding his head and shrugging in grudging agreement, The Kid trudged down the path, the first forge rising over the horizon.

He’d nearly mastered handling the Fire Bellows, and wanted to finish with it as quick as possible. Despite his Cael heritage, which gave him a resistance to warmth, the heat in the forges was almost unbearable. The only thing that kept him from refusing to enter the building was his dedication to his last surviving family member.

His mother needed the money, and he couldn't go back to school after all **this**. Who would even take him back?

“So, twerp, where’re you up to in your training?” Wyatt puffed out his chest, towering over The Kid and cutting off his train of thought. “I’m already improving my hammer with Something Heavy.”

He paused, furrowing his brow. “Not exactly sure what the material  **is** , but whatever. The point is that I’m obviously further than you.” He smirked in triumph. "You need to keep up, Kiddo!"

The Kid merely rolled his eyes. Wyatt, for some reason, always thought of their training as a competition, as if there was a prize for the best man and the very end. It was like the fellow Mason was personally pushing him, trying to get him riled up.

Rubbing some sleep from his eyes, The Kid trudged forward to the nearest Forge, sliding his Cael Hammer off his back and setting it in the weapons rack at the entrance. No one was allowed to bring any tools into the building that weren't already provided at the workstations.

There had been an incident during The War where a Caelondian traitor attempted to hold a forge hostage with a pair of duelling pistols. After the body had been retrieved from the smoke filled structure, The Authorities had forbidden any unauthorised implements in the Forges to prevent any future incidents.

The Kid patted the grip on the hammer in farewell. He wasn't worried about it being stolen. Lemaign blessed every Cael Hammer so that it couldn't be picked up by anyone other than the Mason it belonged to. If the Mason died before bestowing their hammer onto another, then the rest of The Masons would be able to lift it, to pass the hammer on.

As far as The Kid was concerned, he wasn’t planning on dying any time soon.

Windmilling his arms to loosen up the joints, The Kid got ready for another day full of learning how to improve the various weapons he would be utilizing in the years to come.

* * *

 

After a morning of continuous sweating, it was finally time to eat something. Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, The Kid jogged out of The Forge quickly, heading for the canteen a few minutes’ walk away, where he would be able to find a quiet spot and eat his satchel of food for the day.

If he was lucky, he’d be left alone long enough that he could finish his meal quickly, and get back to mastering the Fire Bellows, so that he could move onto learning how to improve more foreign weaponry.

Despite Wyatt's utterly obnoxious way of stating it, he was right. The Kid didn't want to be left behind in training, and for someone of his age, that meant having to go the extra mile, work the extra hour, and slam his Hammer one extra time onto the nails in The Walls.

Munching contentedly on his sandwich and with his mind wandering to his mother back home, The Kid failed to notice a huge cloud picking up speed and dispersing around the various forges dotted across the landmass. One by one, the trainee Masons around The Kid looked up in horrific awe, transfixed by the swirling mass rapidly descending upon them.

Finally noticing the lull in the conversation around him, The Kid looked up apprehensively, expecting to be faced with the butt-end of a practical joke, only to be faced with a cloud so large, it blotted out the sun.

No, not a cloud.

The Kid jumped up frantically, his mind working feverishly on what to do. He hadn't seen this many peckers in his whole life! The Keeper damn him, he hadn't even known that this many even existed, and glancing around, it looked like his associates didn't either.

They seemed to be hypnotised by the circular motion the birds were flying in, a swirling storm directly above their heads. The Gods had finally decided to rain fury down upon them.

“Snap out of it, Kid!” Someone shouted into his ear, making him jump and shake his head vigorously, clearing his mind of such ludicrous notions. The Gods didn't interfere with the affairs of mortals, at least, certainly not at this scale.

They would have to deal with this on their own.

Twisting his head to the side of his ringing ear, The Kid found Wyatt looking at him in concern, obviously hoping to find one other person among the gormless masses staring into the now black sky to be able to hatch a plan with.

Noticing that he now had The Kid’s attention, Wyatt looked up into the sky defiantly, and spoke confidently to The Kid, switching into a soldiers stance. They were no longer rivals anymore. They were colleagues who had to stay close to each other to stay alive.

“Okay, so, why are they here? Maybe if we know that, we can help them move on... Maybe they’re migrating?”

Receiving a scathing look from The Kid, who jerked his head towards the direction they came from, Wyatt retracted his question. “Good point, why would they migrate east? Okay, so, maybe they’re just lost, or driven from their home by something?”

Gesturing to the enormous amount of birds in the sky, The Kid widened his eyes in fear. For a few brief moments, The Kid felt like a little boy lost in an adult’s world, way in over his head. He couldn't deal with this! Oh, Micia, he was going to die!

Wyatt noticed the distress flitting over The Kid’s face and strode over, slapping the boy across the face without remorse. 

“Suck it up, kiddo, you’re a part of this now, and I can’t have you checking out on me when you’re one of the best fighters we have! We don’t have much time left before the Caelondians realise what’s going on, they attack, and all hell breaks loose! Come on Kid, you've got to help me out here!”

Hardening his face, The Kid nodded grimly. From the looks of things, he and Wyatt were all The Forges had at the moment.

Reviewing the situation in his head, The Kid attempted to come up with a plan of defence. Peckers, by nature, were merely protectors. They defended their own, and ruthlessly attacked anything they perceived as a threat, even going so far as to give up their own life in defiance of their target.

At the moment, the peckers weren't attacking, due to the Masons around them merely being in shock, doing nothing to aggravate them.

But Wyatt, once again, was right. As soon as they got over their shock; one of The Masons was going to make a false move.

Shout a little too loud, accidentally knock over something big, move in a threatening way, or even, Lemaign forbid, attack the horde directly. Almost anything could set the mob of birds off.

And after that had happened, they were going to get slaughtered.

In small numbers, peckers were merely a nuisance, and The Kid would’ve recommended facing them head on. But for this many… they would just have to hold some sort of defence and hope to all the Gods that the peckers decided they weren't a threat anymore, and left them alone.

The Kid was left with an impossible task. Either organize a wide-scale defence tactic that would span all of The Forges, or find and implement a God-level weapon that would obliterate the Peckers in one fell swoop.

And all he had at his disposal was a canteen of half-eaten food, a few gormless Masons that wouldn't be any use anyway, and his training rival.

Closing his eyes quickly, The Kid tried to calm down. He’d never had this many people count on him before.

 **Quinby** was counting on him. He couldn't let him down.

Dragging himself out of his stupor, The Kid turned around to Wyatt just in time to hear a small explosion come from inside one of the largest forges in the area.

The loud blast echoed around the straight plaza the area was built on, reverberating in the air, giving The Kid a splitting headache from the vibrations.

Wyatt snapped his head towards to The Kid in terror, eyes widening in anticipation.

And then, the older Mason, his hand outstretched towards The Kid and mouth open to yell, was lost in a flurry of black.

~~~~

To compare the event to a bomb going off would be an understatement.

It was like a tornado made out of feathers had exploded around him, screams and shouts mingling with the caws on the peckers in the air, deafening The Kid as his bare skin was scratched, and his limbs snapped at.

Wading through the sea of birds, sustaining thousands of minor injuries, The Kid eventually reached the nearest dining table. Seeing a metal tray lying on the ground, presumably knocked off the table in the activity around them, The Kid stomped on its edge, flipping it directly up into his hand quickly, and he started to use it as a makeshift weapon, smacking Peckers to the side, blocking against their claws and beaks, and smashing their wings to prevent them from flying.

After only a few minutes, The Kid confirmed his earlier theory. It was useless trying to fight them like this. Every time he hit a Pecker out of the way, a new one filled its place. Every time he blocked the beak from one in front of him, another behind him scratched at his neck. Every time he knocked one out of the air, it merely enraged the rest of the peckers around him into attacking even more ferociously.

He was getting nowhere with this tactic. Time for a new plan. Where was Wyatt?

Almost as if he had heard his thoughts out loud, The Kid heard Wyatt shout clearly above the cacophony of noise surrounding them.

“Kid! I’ve got an idea! Where are you?”

Flinging his way towards the direction of the voice urgently, The Kid collided with Wyatt. The older mason steadied him, and spoke clearly so that The Kid could hear him amongst the chaos going on around them.

“We’re fighting a losing battle here! We’re going to get killed if we stay like this!”

The Kid surveyed the man quickly, and nodded his head in agreement. Wyatt’s face was dripping blood from his eye-lid and ear, while clutching his arm gingerly. It looked like The Kid’s small size had made him less of a target for the birds, and they had largely ignored him. Once again, his size had given him an advantage.

Clutching his shoulders roughly and pulling him under a table for temporary safety, Wyatt pointed to a smoke cloud pillaring into the sky in the distance that they could see.

“That must be the forge that exploded and set off the peckers. Do’ya know about Grady’s incinerator? Peckers don’t like flames at all, and with them packed this closely together, we light even **one** of them up, the rest of them won’t be too far behind in being burnt to ashes. All we've got to do is get those peckers towards that forge, detonate it, and send all of their Sparks to The Mother.”

Grinning like a maniac, Wyatt looked to The Kid for approval of his genius, who merely surveyed the anarchy around them from their safe haven under the table.

As much as Wyatt’s idea made sense, like all plans, it was easier said than done.

They had no weapons to speak of, which were lying on a rack a mile away, they were in the middle of an animalistic battleground that didn't seem to be letting up, and they had to get to a forge that was an unknown distance away.

Groaning, The Kid rubbed a hand over his face, wiping off the grime that had settled there from the fighting in the middle of the carnage. Of course this would happen; bad luck just seemed to follow him wherever he went!

Passing his metal tray to Wyatt, The Kid readied himself to run. Wyatt would get attacked more due to his size, so he needed the makeshift shield to protect himself. The Kid was quicker and smaller, so he would be fine as long as he kept his head down, and didn't stop moving.

Signalling with his fingers, Wyatt counted down silently, his legs twitching in anticipation of the sprint ahead of them.

4 fingers.

3 fingers.

2 fingers.

1 finger.

It was now or never.

The Kid didn't bother looking behind him to see if Wyatt was following, but considering the fact that he could hear the Mason grunting in exertion every now and then, followed by an indignant squawk and a weighty thud, it sounded like the man was holding his own, despite his injured arm.

No matter how uneasy they were with each other before this, they needed each other now to save everyone, and The Kid couldn't deny the obvious skill the man had both in fighting, and in determination, both essential skills if one hoped to be placed on The Walls.

Accidentally smacking into a Cinder flailing around as she was chased by two Peckers, The Kid stopped dead, jumped up and dragged the two birds down to the earth by their feet.

Yelling in annoyance at his back, Wyatt shouted in his ear. “We don’t have time for this! We’ll be helping everybody if we blow The Forge up, we can’t wait for individual people!”

Despite dragging The Kid by the collar and pushing the boy in front of himself again, Wyatt finished off the Peckers that were attacking the Cinder Woman with two brutal hits to their heads, crushing their skulls and killing them instantly.

Nodding and smiling to the woman, who stared at him in shell-shock, Wyatt set off again, throwing Peckers out of the way to catch up to The Kid standing next to The Forges doors, waving at him frantically, seemingly disturbed by something he had just saw.

~~~~

The Kid had been a few meters away from the doors when he had encountered another person.

There were less Peckers around this area, which was an advantage on one hand, due to the fact that they could see clearly, but a disadvantage on the other, considering that they wanted to converge all of the peckers upon this area.

The Kid turned around at the edge of the doors to find how far behind Wyatt was, but he was faced not with his uneasy ally, but with Marshal Quinby, jogging quickly with his pike by his side.

The Kid had always used to wonder why Quinby had a Brushers Pike, considering that he was a Marshal, whose signature weapon was a Scrap Musket.

That was until one day the Marshal had seen him puzzling over it, and explained how his father used to be part of The Brushers, and gave his pike to his son for him to use as a marshal, ‘carrying on the family tradition’.

The Kid had wondered then, whether if  **his**  father would have given him his Cael Hammer when he was old enough to go off to work, instead of The Kid having to pry his Life-long Friend from the cold, dark and lifeless corner it resided in for 10 years of his life.

Shaking the memory out of his mind, The Kid nodded his head sharply in recognition of his mentor. Hurrying over to him, Quinby hissed to him in the commotion around them, a battle on one side, and a time bomb on the other.

“So you heard the explosion come from the forge as well? Looks like that’s what set the Peckers off, eh? The Marshals and I were warned that something like this might happen.” The Kid looked at him quizzically, and the Marshal elaborated. “Colford cauldron is acting up again, driving animals out of their habitats in the areas around it.”

He shook his head solemnly and looked up into the whirlpool of birds amassing over the area.

“We didn't know it was going to be this soon however, or even this many! That’s why I could wake you up this morning; I had to deal with this.” He gestured to everything around them.

“Looks like we didn't do it quickly enough. Now we have a catastrophe on our hands. This forge is producing munitions, and there are still people inside! We’ve got to get them out before the whole place blows up!"

He stared at the copious amounts of smoke drifting through missing portions of the roof. "It’s obviously already on fire from the last explosion, and that was only the start. It should have been relatively easy to get everyone out, but with these damned peckers occupying the bulk of our workforce, we’re going to be overwhelmed and wiped out before we can do anything!”

Quinby set his pike horizontally, jamming it into the crack in between the doors and prying the wood open quickly, snapping the lock. “Okay, Kid. Executive decision, stay out here and try to help get rid of those peckers.”

He saw the furious look on The Kid’s face and continued stonily. “That’s an order, Mason! I can’t risk another man getting stuck in here and getting exploded into critter food!”

Pointing at The Kid threateningly to stay where he was, Quinby put his arm over his mouth, and ventured deep into the dense smoke, coughing violently.

Turning back around, and warring with himself, The Kid saw Wyatt running towards him at full pelt, and waved him over quickly. Maybe  **he**  would know what to do.

The man jogged up to him and started towards the now open doors, before The Kid held out his arm to stop his progress.

“Come on Kid, quit it! Let’s get in there, light a signal, get the peckers to converge, then blow the place sky high!” The Kid groaned, and shook his head, tapping the breast of his outfit, signalling a marshal’s badge.

Deducing what the boy meant quickly, Wyatt looked at him uncertainly. “Olak, there are people stuck in there aren't there? Just our luck. And Marshal Quinby’s gone in to save them?” The Kid nodded his head, looking down, when Wyatt whacked him in the arm.

“Then what the hell are we waiting for, pipsqueak? Now we’re killing three birds with one stone! Talk about value for effort! I don’t give a damn what Quinby says, you can blame it all on me for all I care, but we've got to save as many people as we can. I ran over **four** dead bodies on the way here, and i can tell you, the way a pecker kills a man is  **not**  pretty.”

Steeling himself, The Kid gritted his teeth and followed Wyatt into the burning building, not knowing that he would come out a changed person.

~~~~

The building was a firefighter’s nightmare.

The smoke was so thick, it was impossible to see further than a few centimetres in front of yourself, obscuring the pairs' view and burning their eyes. The floor was covered with broken structures, burning ferociously and blocking various paths further into the forge. The supports and walls creaked and groaned worryingly, every second bringing them one more second closer to falling, and bringing the whole construction down in a crash.

Any sane person would have written the forge off as too dangerous to enter by now. So it was no surprise to The Kid that he was continuing to stumble blindly past various anvils and fire bellows, being led by the back of Wyatt’s shirt.

This was more deranged than the time he had thought it was a good idea invoke Olak’s curiosity. He was still being punished for **that** mistake to this day. Was he ever going to grow enough common sense not to get himself into these messes?

Stopping suddenly at a particular alcove that was free of smoke, Wyatt whipped out two small rags, and dipped them into the water beside an anvil, where various shapes of metal could be cooled off quickly.

Passing one of the rags to The Kid, they put the cloths over their mouth and nose. The dampness would keep them from choking on the thick smoke as they ventured further in.

Scanning the area quickly, The Kid noticed various grenades lying on the anvil. Tossing them to Wyatt quickly, who pocketed them with a curt nod, The Kid hurried further into the blaze. They would be able to use the grenades to attract the peckers, and then set off a series of explosions throughout the forge, incinerating the creatures.

Blocking most of the heat with his arm in front of his body, the kid dashed through the inferno swiftly. They came across several Cinders and Masons huddled in a stone furnace that wasn't on fire, blocking the majority of the flames from touching them.

Since the furnace was designed to keep heat in, it also seemed to serve the purpose of keeping heat out. These people were smart to think of that. It probably saved their lives.

With Wyatt’s help, The Kid pushed aside a partial collapse of the ceiling blocking the people from escaping. Pointing them in the direction of the door that was now indistinguishable through the smoke, the two allies watched them scurry quickly through the blaze in fear.

The last Cinder turned around and stumbled over her words, hoping to end her speech and remove herself from the situation as quickly as possible. “We saw a Marshal run further in, after the last of us, somewhere over there.”

She gestured towards the back of the forge jerkily, coughing on the soot in the air. “If you’re going after him, good luck.”

The Cinder then turned on her heel, ran after her friends, and was swallowed up by the smoke, leaving The Kid and Wyatt alone in the oppressive heat.

~~~~

Glancing at each other in worry, the colleagues raced towards the area that the Cinder had indicated. Quinby shouldn't have taken this long to save a few people. Someone with his capability should already be outside, with the people he had rescued in tow.

But he was still in here. Something must have happened.

Jumping over debris, the duo cowered as the ceiling came crashing down to the side of them, rattling their bones with the tremors it caused. This caused a chain reaction, and huge sections of the roof caved in, slamming into the ground with a force equivalent to a small earthquake.

The sudden displacement of material caused dust and embers to fly up and hang in the air around them, burning them lightly. The Kid felt an explosion send a shockwave through the air beating him and Wyatt back a few steps with sheer force. “Garmuth judge me! What the hell was that?” Wyatt yelled, steadying himself.

The Kid froze in dread, coming to a sudden realisation.

What had Quinby said?  _“This forge is producing munitions”_

Breathing sharply, The Kid whacked himself over the head. How could he be so stupid? They had to get out of here fast. Who knew how long it would take for the gunpowder stores to blow? They were in even more danger than he previously thought.

It couldn't get much worse than this.

Noticing the mistake in his thinking a second too late, The Kid glanced up through the now open roof, hearing the thunder from hundreds of wings beating, and noticed a churning horde flying over the forge in fury.

He just **had** to go and test fate, didn't he?

Wyatt peered up in the throng of peckers, and sighed wearily. It seemed like he was finally resigned to how the day was turning out for them.

Chuckling dryly, the older Mason grabbed The Kid’s arm, dragging him along with him. “Well, we got their attention at least. I'm going to take a calculated guess, and say that we've got maybe five to ten minutes before they decide to attack. We've got to find Quinby, grab the last of the personnel, and get out in that time.”

He groaned, noticing how ridiculous that sounded.

“Oh, Jevel, we’re going to die. I’m going to bite the dust running through a burning building with a Kid by my side.” Shaking his head ruefully, Wyatt pressed on, hoping to defy his own prediction.

The Kid dashed behind him, vaulting over rubble and considering the situation they found themselves in. The Kid held the belief that there was a way out of everything, and everyone could be saved, **if** you knew what to do.

All The Kid had to do is figure out what it was that held the key to their success. His thoughts were interrupted when the duo heard violent coughing originating from the second floor.

Clambering up the half-crumpled stairs rapidly, they came upon a situation that The Kid would never forget for the rest of his life, plaguing his dreams for years after the event.

~~~~

The first thing they noticed were the last two workers stuck under a flaming beam so thick that it must have been used to hold up the roof. The two men were unconscious, presumably from the wood toppling on top of them. Flames were swiftly progressing along the pillar, threatening the burn the Cinders alive in their senseless state.

On the other side of the landing was Marshal Quinby, leaning up against a railing coughing, having obviously succumbing to the soot clogging up his lungs, his pike lying limply within his hand. He hadn’t had the foresight to use a damp cloth to block the smoke from his breathing.

Lastly, at the far ending of the landing was the gunpowder store, sitting innocently in the flickering light, free from fire despite the deadly cargo it contained.

Wyatt assessed the situation quickly, deduced that the Cinders were in more danger, and sprinted over to them, dropping the rag that protected him from the smoke, and attempted to lift the heavy scaffolding.

The Kid, however, paused.

By logic, there were more people to save if he helped Wyatt, and the fire was going to get to them quickly if they didn't get the workers out as soon as possible.

But on the other hand, there was Quinby. He was The Kid’s mentor, and had taught him so much since he had signed up to The Walls, not to mention that the wood beneath him seemed to be weakening by the second.

Before he could come to a decision, the fire decided for him.

The platform beneath Quinby disintegrated suddenly and he tumbled down in the inferno below, his pike held high in the hopes of it stabbing into something that could hold his weight and slow his descent.

The Kid acted in a split second, throwing his rag to the side and leaping forwards, reaching for the blade of the pike, wrapping his left hand around the sharp steel, causing it to dig deep into his palm and cut it finely.

Regardless of the injury, The Kid’s gambit had worked. Quinby stopped falling, being held aloft by his Pike. But despite The Kid’s impressive strength for his age, and his unwavering conviction, Quinby was still too heavy for him.

The sharp head of the pike slid through The Kid’s palm from The Marshal's weight, drawing more blood and causing the boy to cry out in anguish. Ignoring the agony, The Kid merely clutched the blade more tightly, his blood dripping down the metal slowly, staining the metal red. The alloy was burning his hand, having conducted the heat around them.

The blade was cutting deep into his palm, and searing his wound closed with heat at the same time.

Due to the onslaught of pain inflicted upon his grip, his arm muscle spasmed, attempting to get The Kid to let go, and Quinby slipped a little further into the fire on the floor below.

He couldn't reach down with his other hand, because that was bracing against the floor he was lying on, the only thing preventing Quinby’s weight from pulling him over the lip of the landing. He looked over the edge in desperation, hoping that the Marshal would be able to climb up the pike and to safety, when his mentor’s eyes looked sadly up at him.

Everything seemed to pulse, and time stopped.

The Kid became aware of everything around him, bathed in the glow of the wildfire.

**He could save everyone.**

He noticed Wyatt out of the corner of his eye, straining in futility to move the support crushing the two Cinder men, fire licking at his feet and hands, causing him to flinch in discomfort.

**Surely he could save everyone?**

He could see the floor of the forge, now completely covered in flames flickering menacingly, waiting to take a life.

**There was always a way out.**

He observed the hurricane of birds cawing loudly, now funnelling down rapidly into a spear, seconds away from striking the forge in its centre.

**What was the way out?**

Lastly, he recognized three grenades flying through the air, pins pulled and headed for the gunpowder store, a few metres away.  Wyatt must have thrown them, hoping to at least kill the peckers, even if he had to sacrifice himself. How long would it take the grenades to blow up?

**He needed more time.**

The Kid turned to Quinby, and recognized the look in his eyes. He was about to let go, yielding himself to The Duke’s judgement.

No, The Kid refused to believe it.

He could save everyone, he knew he could!

There was just something he was missing, something that would help him. He could always save everyone.

Right?

He just needed time to think! He needed more time!

There was no time.

Everything was leading up to this. An uncontrollable sequence of events, creating this inescapable plight.

The Kid blinked, the spell was broken, Quinby released the pike, and the flames engulfed him, claiming his life and wrapping around him, shielding him from The Kid’s sight.

Launched back from the sudden loss of weight, The Kid fell into the plank that Wyatt was attempting to lift. Wasting none of the time that his mentor had sacrificed to give him, The Kid jumped up and wielded the pike he had a hold on, jamming it under the timber, and using its leverage, along with Wyatt’s strength, to lift it up and out of the way.

How much time had passed? Two seconds? How much longer did they have till the gunpowder blew? How long were the fuses on grenades? 10 seconds? 5?

Strapping the pike to his back, The Kid picked up one of the workers and threw him over his shoulder hastily, watching Wyatt do the same. The older mason looked over in shock to where Quinby had disappeared, before hefting the other worker onto his shoulder into a better position. Rushing along the landing, both of them hacked and coughed on the soot they no longer had a barrier against. Wyatt turned to him quickly and pointed to a portion of the ground floor that was free of flames.

“We’re going to have to jump down. We don’t have time to think about it, those grenades are going to-”

Wyatt couldn't finish before the whole world ruptured, the force of the blast smashing the two masons and their passengers through a wall and outside, falling towards the ground like rocks, ears ringing. The Kid looked up into the sky between half-lidded eyes, and saw peckers flailing around, feathers burning up, flying away from the forge in a panic.

The wind whistling in his ears, The Kid closed his eyes and twisted around with no control, his face smacking into the ground, knocking him unconscious.

* * *

 

“Hey Kid, we’re not finished yet.”

Wyatt’s voice permeated The Kid’s mind, clearing it from its fogginess.

“I know you can hear me, Kid. Come on, we've got work to do.”

The Kid groaned and got up, dragging himself out of his tent slowly. His lungs felt like someone had set fire to them, and now the burnt tissue was flaking and falling apart.

Coughing violently, The Kid fell down onto a knee, only to be held up by Wyatt, who was slouching by the entrance to the tent. Looking up in gratitude, The Kid came face to face with a man he almost didn't recognize.

Wyatt’s hair was singed erratically leaving portions of his head bald, with first and second degree burns littering his face and arms. He had a cut running down from his ear to his jawline, and was clutching at his chest, which had a crude bandage wrapped around it, crossing over his arm.

Wyatt noticed him staring, and started laughing without humour.

“Admiring my battle wounds? The Menders said that the burns will clear up in a week or two, but the cuts are going to leave scars.” The Kid glanced pointedly at the dressing he had around his chest, and Wyatt shifted, hiding it from view, wincing in the process.

“When we blew through the wall after the grenades lighted the gunpowder, I landed on some jagged pieces of wood. It pierced right through me like a javelin. It was not a nice landing, I can tell you.”

Noticing The Kid’s pitiful expression, Wyatt scoffed in indignation. “Don’t give me that look! You look like crap yourself. The ends of your hair are charred beyond belief, and your face is caked in soot. And that’s not even to mention your hand…” They both looked at The Kid’s left hand quickly, which was covered in gauze, shielding the damage done to it from sight.

The damage from failure.

Shrugging in a way The Kid hoped looked indifferent; he looked up at Wyatt slowly, waiting for the man to speak.

Despite obviously not being fooled by The Kid’s façade, Wyatt let it go, and gestured for them to walk down the path ahead of them. As they travelled quietly, The Kid felt strange, as if he was seeing the world through a different filter.

They were taking the same route they had taken the morning before. But this time, only destruction lay before them. Buildings were torn apart, devastated by the unending amount of peckers that had punished them. Mender’s tents littered the area, tending to a variety of wounds. Lacerations, lesions, burns and various states of trauma.

Trudging down the path in a daze, the duo passed a man lying on the ground, deathly still, with a woman crying silently over his body, cradling his head.

The woman turned quickly at their approach, and pair of Masons were witness to the guts of the nameless man spilled over the ground, his bowels ripped open jaggedly by what were obviously claws and beaks.

They altered they gaze to the woman, and were confronted with blood-stained hands, and a thousand-yard stare that seemed to drill into their souls, unnerving them.

Backing away swiftly, The Masons jogged the rest of the way to the forge that they had worked in the morning before without looking back.

Walking up to the weapons rack, The Kid stopped and looked at his Life-Long Friend with regret.

What would have happened if he or Wyatt had brought their Hammers with them into that hell-hole? They could have smashed the pillar quickly, got the two Cinders out of harm’s way quickly, and then Wyatt could have helped him with The Marshal.

What would have happened if Wyatt went for Quinby instead? He was stronger than The Kid, he could have pulled him up, and then the three of them could have lifted the pillar together, and got the heck out of there.

What would have happened if-

Wyatt clapped a hand on the Kid’s shoulder and looked at him in understanding. “Look, thinking about the past is going to do you no good, trust me. I’ve been spending the past day agonizing over everything that happened.” He grabbed his Hammer, and set down along the path once again.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

They traipsed across the plains towards a heap of wood and metal smouldering under the sunlight shining upon it. After a few seconds of trying to place the location, The Kid noticed a Brusher Pike stabbed into the ground in front of the rubble. This was the Forge.

The Forge that Quinby died in.

There was nothing left but debris and smoke scattered across the field. They strode up to the Pike standing proudly in front of the devastation around them.

“They retrieved it from your unconscious body after you fell. Stuck it here in memory of what he gave up to save everyone. The Marshals say that they’re going to set the pike in concrete, so that no one will be able to move it. It’ll stay here as a reminder of what one man sacrificed for us all.”

One word stuck out like a sore thumb to The Kid.

The Kid stumbled back and sat on a section of collapsed flooring. Surveying it closer, it looked identical to the landing that Quinby had…

The Kid felt queasy. Putting his head in his hands, he took deep breaths to try and equalize his erratic heartbeat. Barely noticing when Wyatt sat down next to him, The Kid exhaled slowly.

“You know, Kid, I actually thought we were going to die in there. I thought that The Keeper was finally coming to take my Spark.” The Kid heard Wyatt’s voice crack under the duress of his anguish.

“The Cinder that I was carrying didn't survive.” Looking up, The Kid saw Wyatt wiping at his eyes quickly. “Apparently he’d inhaled too much smoke. He died of asphyxiation.” The Kid was smart, but was certainly not literary genius, so he glanced at Wyatt quizzically.

“He couldn't breathe. In his final moments, he was looking up at me, clutching at my shirt and choking on his own breath.”

Wyatt inhaled heavily, shuddering, and viewed The Kid through his distress.

“Yesterday was screwed up. Everything just went spiralling out of control before we could try to do anything about it. But you and me? We survived. We beat the odds. I used to think you’d get us all killed. How could a Kid hope to defend me in a fight? But now, I see that mis-judged you.  **We**  saved everyone. We watched each other’s backs, and carried out a plan that brought us triumph."

He clapped the boy on the back lightly. "That, Kid, is what true brothers in arms do for each other. From now on, we stick together.”

The Kid smirked and clasped Wyatt’s shoulder in confirmation. He may have lost a mentor, but he’d gained a brother.

A brother who was prepared to sacrifice himself for thousands of others.

When Wyatt threw those grenades, he must have known what was going to happen. He would have seen the situation around them, and he still threw them. He was scared of his death, and thought that was the end for him, but he didn't run away, or find shelter, leaving everyone else to die. He did the only thing he could to make sure everyone else survived.

The Kid had never understood things like that before. He had always thought that everyone could be saved. That there was always a way towards a happy ending. But now he knew the truth. Sometimes, things had to be done for the greater good.

Sacrifices must be made to ensure victory.

They killed all those peckers, burnt them to a crisp, the massacre of thousands of animals. But they  **had**  to incinerated, to save everyone else.

That man, the one with his organs spilled over the cobblestones. They probably could have saved him if they had stayed behind to try and fight off the peckers by hand. But then almost everyone else would have died, he  **had**  to be left, so that everyone else could be saved.

The Kid might have been able to pull Quinby up, if given enough time, but he sacrificed himself so that they could live.

Not everyone could be saved, he knew that now. Sacrifices aren't pretty, but when there’s huge stakes, and a split second to decide the outcome, they’re necessary.

The Kid stood up, and looked over to Quinby’s Pike. It was fitting that it was here, at his last resting place. A fighter should never be parted from their weapon. The Kid couldn't imagine being parted from his.

Staring over the smoking ruins of the forge, The Kid made a silent promise.

He would sacrifice himself whenever it was needed, so that other people wouldn't have to. No one else would give up their life in the place of his own ever again.

Nodding to himself in satisfaction, The Kid helped Wyatt to his feet, and the two friends hobbled back to the forges, the sun peeking over its chimneys.

A new day had begun.

* * *

 

_"And so The Kid learnt his next lesson: Sometimes there isn't a happy ending, and something has to be sacrificed, so that everyone else can live._

_Zia looked at me in horror, tears in her eyes._

_“He was only 11?” Zia’s speech was hoarse, almost as if she had lost her voice from heartache. “How could The Gods allow something so terrible happen to someone that young?”_

_Her lower lip trembled, picturing the scene that I had fleshed out for her. I sighed, and scratched my jaw. I knew she was going to react this way. How could I make her feel better? The Kid would never forgive me if he knew that I had upset her. And I didn’t want to get on his bad side._

_“Look, Zia, they allowed it happen because they knew The Kid was strong enough to pull through it, like we do. He can fight through anything thrown at him."_

_Zia sniffled, and sat up straight. “But why did The Gods allow it to happen in the first place? I mean, I know that The Kid can survive something like that, but that doesn't mean that it’s okay to put him through torment like that!”_

_I glanced over to Zulf’s tent in a panic. We were speaking loudly, and I could have sworn I heard a noise come from the lodging._

_Lowering my voice a fraction, I answered in a hushed tone. “Just like The Kid learnt, they knew that sacrifices must be made. They knew that Quinby must die, and The Kid must lose his childhood, all for the greater good. To make him into the Kid he is today. To prepare him for what he had to do, and give him the attributes to survive through The Calamity and save us all._

_Zia looked at me in shock. “But what if he decides to sacrifice himself out there, in The Wilds, when we could save him?”_

_I chuckled lightly, and patted Zia lightly on the head. “You care about him a lot, huh?” Zia just blushed and ducked her head, making me grin even wider._

_“Well, don’t worry about him. That Kid doesn’t answer to no one, and he sure isn't going to sacrifice himself until he decides that it's his time. Even The Gods respect him.”_

_My eyes gleamed in the fire, and I smirked._

_“That’s the next part in the story. How The Kid gets his Bullhead Shield.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that wasn't nice, was it?  
> Ok, so this was kind of depressing, but the next chapter will be a bit more upbeat, I promise. And I’m also planning a one-shot that should be completely fluff, so that’ll be nice, I guess. Comment and give me Kudos if you want. Like always, I’m not going to force you via blackmail or anything, but it would really help to get some feedback, and would encourage me to write more regularly.


	3. Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I’ve decided that I need a beta reader, because I take way too long proofreading my stories. Seriously, it only takes me a few days to write a story, but I’m never satisfied after that. I change it and change it, then proofread it, then change it some more. 99% of the time I take making my stories is proofreading. So maybe having an outside opinion would be less biased, and I wouldn’t be too worried that my stories suck.
> 
> So if you want to be beta reader or something, let me know via comment or pm or whatever. That’s pretty much it. 
> 
> Sorry for being completely useless at updating regularly

_Zia sniffled, but shuffled up closer, resting her chin on her hands. It looked like I was doing a good job in making her forget about the last portion of the story._

_Smiling fondly at her familiar actions, I drummed my fingers on the cane in my hands. “The Kid is rather contradictory, don’t you think? He knows the value of life, yet he never seems to have a problem taking it. He is a rather gentle soul, and yet he fights with a ferocity never seen by anyone in the history of Caelondia. He respects The Gods, but has invoked them on various occasions, with disastrous results.”_

_I took a deep breath, noticing Zia nodding slowly beside me. “Well, he learnt all that in the moments I’m about to tell you about. This was during his third year out of five on The Walls, over halfway through his shift, and still going strong, with Wyatt by his side throughout their trials.”_

_Zia’s eyes widened in recognition of the name, but didn’t interrupt. Zulf’s tent shifted in the wind, and I could have sworn that I saw a figure standing in the shadows._

_Dismissing it as a trick of the light, I continued with the story._

_“Well, the opening to this chapter begins with a rather unruly bar-fight…”_

* * *

 

The Kid and Wyatt were relaxing after a week of continuous work, when a group of people had walked over and started insulting The Kid.

It was the usual stuff, and The Kid wasn’t too bothered as long as he had a friend like Wyatt by his side.

The leader of the group jeered at the pair. “Ignoring me, Kid? I’m not surprised. I never expected a **child** like you to have any manners!”

Wyatt, jumped up at the word, squaring up to the speaker. The Kid hated that word, so it was the only thing Wyatt couldn’t tolerate.

“Call him a child again, and I’ll dislocate your jaw.” Wyatt said with a matter-of-fact tone. He seemed almost bored of the confrontation.

The man sneered down at Wyatt, opening his mouth with a cocky grin. “Chil-UGH!” Wyatt swung his fist with precision into the man’s mouth without hesitation. The audible crack of bone echoed around the bar, silencing the patrons.

Now, you might not know this Zia, but in bars, especially at locations like The Walls, it is extremely easy to start an all-out brawl.

Many different Factions congregate on areas such as that, and emotions are always high after a hard day’s work. All it ever takes is for one small spark to light the fire.

As soon as Wyatt had smacked the person in front of him to the floor, everyone in the bar stood up simultaneously, looking around the room in anticipation.

The bartender started to put away the more expensive liquors.

Slowly, each of the factions picked a side, and Wyatt realised his mistake.

The man that he had struck down was a Graver. The enforcers of The Authorities.

Wyatt swore harshly.

Stood behind the Gravers were the more ‘elite’ factions. Brushers, Triggers, Slingers and Mancers. These were the groups that didn’t get their hands dirty on a daily basis, and so generally thought themselves better than the less prestigious factions, who were backing The Masons. Trappers, Cinders, Skippers and Breakers held the ground behind The Kid and Wyatt.

Anyone might have thought that The Masons and their allies were out-matched, but they weren’t going to back down easily. The Rippling Walls were **their** turf, and they weren’t going to go down without a fight.

The Kid rolled his neck as he stood by Wyatt, glaring up at him.

“Shut up. It’s not my fault!”

The Kid just shook his head, squaring off against The Gravers. Wyatt caught the silent meaning.

_I didn’t say anything!_

Wyatt shouted at him as the fight begun. “YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!”

Stomping on the foot of the first person to attack him, The Kid sighed.

Wyatt just couldn’t keep himself in line. It always got them in trouble.

Well, at least he got some dinner-time entertainment.

~~~~

10 minutes later, a body went flying through the air and hit the bar, sliding across the polished surface, pushing glasses onto the floor where they smashed, as the victim slid over them. Eventually, the figure stopped just short of the edge of the bar-top. A few more centimetres, and he would have fallen off the end of the counter.

Groaning in pain, The Kid pushed himself up gingerly, brushing his back for any stray glass. After shaking a few pieces out of the folds in his clothes, The Kid leaped off the bar, landing on unsteady feet.

Looking around urgently, the boy tried to locate the mountain of a man that had just picked him up like a rag-doll and thrown him half-way across the room. The Kid found him and several others all congregated around Wyatt, beating him into a pulp in the corner of the room.

Growling, The Kid charged back into the fray. Grabbing a delirious Trigger swinging violently at nothing, the young Mason grabbed a tankard from a nearby table and smashed it against the man’s head, denting the metal.

His opponent now dazed, The Kid took the chance to pick him up, straining his muscles with effort. Even though he was now 13, The Kid still had limited upper-body strength, despite any amount of exercise he did. He was lucky that the man he was holding seemed to be missing a few meals.

Exerting as much power as he could, The Kid lifted the drunkard to shoulder height. Holding him there for a spell, The Kid threw him down with the aid of gravity, straight into a nearby table, knocking him out cold.

Ignoring his aching muscles, The Kid turned around to watch Wyatt getting pummelled at the perimeter of the bar by three Gravers. Cracking his knuckles, The Kid entertained the idea of letting the man fend for himself. The older Mason **had** got them into this mess, after all.

The brawl had been a brutal fight, and there were only a few people from each faction left.

The Trappers only had a woman left standing, dancing around and tripping up a Brusher. The lady, a mischievous girl named Jane, vaulted over the Brusher’s wide swing, laughing, tapping him innocently on the back.

Grinning at The Kid, Jane ducked at weaved around the brushers attacks, and called over to her sister Mia, a Cinder.

“Hey, sis! How’re things going over there? Mancers can be a tricky bunch!”

Mia rolled her eyes, watching the Mancer opposite her somehow create a miniature flamethrower from the materials around her. The Kid stepped forward to help, but Mia shrugged in apathy at the flames, walking through them towards her opponent. As a Cinder, she was blessed by The Pantheon with an extra resistance to heat, and the flames licked at her body harmlessly.

Reaching the unbelieving Mancer, Mia ripped the weapon from her adversary’s hands, whacking her over the head with it. After prodding the woman to make sure she was unconscious, Mia looked incredulously at The Kid.

“Fire? Against a Cinder? I thought Mancers were supposed to be smart!”

The Kid shrugged, looking back over to Jane to see her smashing the brusher’s head repeatedly into the wall, cracking the plaster. After the man crumpled to the ground, Jane gestured over to Wyatt, who was defending valiantly against the Gravers pummelling him.

“You think we should help him?”

The Kid was planning to respond to the affirmative, when Wyatt threw The Gravers off him fiercely. Kneeing one in the gut, and sending the other skittering across the floor with a kick, Wyatt stalked up to his last attacker, the man who had insulted The Kid in the first place.

Curling his hand into a fist, the Wyatt smashed it into the man’s already dislocated jaw, making him reel from the pain. Dragging the now dazed Graver across the body-strewn floor, Wyatt hurled him at the entrance to the bar, smashing the wooden door into splinters as sunlight streamed onto the groaning figures covering the ground.

Glancing over to them, he pulled a face. “Thanks for the assist.” he said sarcastically.

Mia gestured to the Gravers surrounding him. “You seemed to be doing alright.”

Joining the other 3 left standing, Wyatt gave The Kid a fist-bump, throwing an arm around Mia’s neck. Raising an eyebrow, Mia trailed a finger down Wyatt’s arm,  then lightly tapped him on the small of his back.

Jumping at the touch, Wyatt withdrew his arm with a half-smile.

“Yeah, I know, we’re still on the clock. But we’ll make up for it later, won’t we?” he winked at her, stretching.

Jane nudged The Kid in the side meaningfully, letting out a puff of air in amusement. Letting out a lopsided grin, The Kid tickled her side in retaliation, causing Jane to giggle in protest.

“Well, I’m glad at least **someone** finds this amusing, because I can assure you, **I** do **not**.”

The quartet froze in dread, turning towards the gravelly voice, to find Marshal Temper and his deputies shadowing the doorstep.

Almost as if they had rehearsed it beforehand, the sisters stepped away from the boys, and pointed at them in unison.

“It was their fault!”

~~~~

“Do you even know the amount of damage you caused!?” Temper paced back and forth across the courtyard in front of the barracks, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“The Menders are going to have their work cut out getting all of those people back on their feet as quick as possible!” Striding forward, the Marshal jabbed a finger into Wyatt’s chest.

“You just caused The City to lose some of its essential workforce! Everyone is already on edge due to the upcoming anniversary of the start of The War…” He rubbed his hands over his face, groaning almost inaudibly through them.

“This is going to make it even harder to contain any commotion…”

Temper glanced at the four perpetrators of his increased paperwork. It was going to be another sleepless night.

“Okay.” Temper pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing out slowly.

“You ladies.” The Head Marshal pointed to Mia and Jane.

“According to you two, none of this mess was your fault…” Temper tapped his feet quickly, coming to a decision. “I don’t believe you, but I really don’t care anymore. Don’t get into any more trouble. I don’t want to see you again, **do you understand**?”

The sisters kept their gazed fixed forward, but with smirks on their faces, they chanted out a response.

“YESSIR!”

Temper waved a hand sharply. “Good. Dismissed. Get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

Wyatt broke his silence at the ruling. “But Temper-”

Baring his teeth, The Marshal pointed at Wyatt in displeasure. “Watch your mouth, Mason! You and The Kid have a lot to answer for.”

Falling into silence alongside The Kid, the brothers in arms watched Mia and Jane turn around at the gate to the barracks, sticking out their tongues.

The Kid let out a low grumble. What were they? 6 years old?

Snapping their attention back to Temper at the bark of his voice, the two Masons awaited their punishment.

~~~~

Knocking his Scrap musket against his leg, Temper’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, I’m going to level with you two. I was going to force you to wash out the barracks and showers, but… I need a favour.”

The Marshal grinned without humour. “Lucky for me, you two now owe me one.”

Beckoning with his hand, Temper strode back towards his office, swinging the wide door open. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Following him into his station, the Masons shifted uneasily at the plethora of weapons and equipment covering the map table. Gesturing to the horde, Temper spoke quickly. “What do you think this is, boys?”

Shrugging, The Kid let his eyes drift over the materials. They were very high grade, that was certain. The gleam and finish on the blades and armour showed the expert craftsmanship of a high-level Cinder. This type of equipment could only be found inside the Grand Armoury, a few leagues to the west.

But what was it doing here?

Approaching the map, The Kid noticed a dagger piercing a drawing of the Grand armoury, a dotted line leading from it towards a red X marking a point within the outer City limits.

Obviously not expecting an answer, Temper grasped the handle of the dagger, wrenching it out of the map, starting to play with the blade.

“This is a haul of weaponry found in an abandoned factory in the outer city. They’ve been stolen by an unknown group every night since a week ago, from The Grand Armoury. And this is only a **fraction** of what was stolen. We don’t know where the rest is.”

Wyatt furrowed his brow, scratching his neck. “Okay, so… why do you need us? Just get The Gravers and your Marshals to flush the culprits out, and the mystery’s solved, right?”

Temper growled slowly, raking his hand across his jaw, scratching his stubble. “The Gravers report directly to The Authorities. I don’t want them to know about this. I don’t trust them, certainly not this close to the war’s anniversary...”

He stood in front of a pin board, full with pictures and news clippings. “I have good intel that they’ve been looking for a reason to finish off the Ura, and they’d just use this as so-called evidence that the Ura are still a threat.”

The Head Marshal traced a string that connected The Mayor to a Grim-faced Ura Mancer, lost in thought.

“There’s something sinister going on, boys. I try to reach out and grab at it every time I come across it, but it always seems to be able to…” He clenched his fist. “Slip through my fingers. Almost as if they know my every move…”

He cleared his throat, turning back to them. “If they don’t know about it, the damn bureaucrats won’t try and take the situation off my hands. I’ve had enough of their fear-mongering over the Ura.”

In a rage that complimented his name, Temper punched the wall next to him, cracking the stone and sending rubble flying. “I won’t let them create anarchy! The peace and protection of The City is **MY** jurisdiction, not theirs!”

Backing up rapidly beside The Kid at the spectacle, Wyatt held up his hands in a placating manner.

“Sure thing chief! You know we’re up for anything that gives the finger to The Gravers! Just tell us what we can do to help.”

Calming himself, The Marshal moved over to the map, tracing the lines. “I need to find these criminals before they do something drastic. They’ve been planning something big, and I need them caught.”

He indicated a Lost and Found building sitting opposite the Grand Armoury. “You two are going to be staking out The Armoury from this location. The Lost and Found is taller than The Armoury, so you should be able to get a clear birds-eye view of the area. I want you to watch and see if anyone enters or exits the building over the weekend. I’ll be closing off the Armoury for the weekend, so there shouldn’t be anyone trying to get in there. If you do see anyone entering, anyone at all, you tail them, and find where their base is. **Do not engage**.”

Temper looked at Wyatt intensely, who had just opened his mouth in protest, but Temper cut him off. “We don’t know what they’re capable of, and the last thing I need is two dead idiots to clean up after.”

Wyatt closed his mouth reluctantly, muttering darkly under his breath, causing Temper to narrow his eyes and raise his voice.

“What was that Wyatt? Something you’d like to tell me?”

Jumping at the chance, Wyatt burst in annoyance. “Temper, the whole weekend? Take pity on us! I had plans for the next few days!”

The Marshal grinned sadistically. “Ah, with Mia, right? You know, Wyatt, maybe you should have thought of that before you started a bar brawl, don’t you think?”

Wyatt’s jaw tightened at the mention of the female Cinder, but kept quiet.

“This is an undercover mission. I don’t know if I have a mole in my command, so if either of you speaks a word…” Temper glanced at The Kid, and snorted in disbelief.

“I’ll send both her **and** her sister back to The Forges, do I make myself clear?” The two Masons winced in memory of the western Walls, the smell of ash and burnt feathers filling their memories.

They nudged each other out of the recollection to see Temper twirling the dagger hypnotically within his hands. The Marshal, irritated with their lack of response, flung the dagger into the wall behind the Masons, leaving it quivering, embedded within the stone.

“I SAID, DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” he roared.

The pair saluted quickly, Wyatt shouting “YESSIR” while The Kid nodded vigorously.

Satisfied, Temper fell back into his chair. “Gather your things. You’ll need to set off immediately.”

“Don’t worry Temper, we won’t let you down. You’ll see! Up top!” Wyatt held his hand up for a high five, grinning like a fool.

Reluctantly, Temper slapped the hand with a scowl on his face, glaring at Wyatt when he repositioned his hand.

“Down low!”

“Get out the hell out of my office.”

* * *

 

The Kid scaled the stairs of the Lost and Found nimbly, jumping two steps at a time with Wyatt on his heels, grumbling something about having to sleep alone. Reaching the top, The Kid started to set up their supplies quickly, while Wyatt surveyed the area, getting a sense of the topography.

He whistled low, and glanced back at The Kid putting up a rain cover. “Have you ever been up this high? I never knew the Lost and Found was this tall!”

The Kid shook his head, tilting his arm up and down in meaning. “Yeah, I guess it **is** all about perspective. Things always look small till you see them up close.”

That was one of the greatest things about their friendship. Wyatt could read The Kid like no other, interpreting meaning and words from the simplest of looks.

Wyatt smirked, and continued. “A bit like you, I guess. Even if you’re still a pipsqueak.”

The Kid groaned, and threw a chair at him quickly, which Wyatt caught deftly and set down on the roof with a barely concealed grin. “Now, now, Kid, no need for violence! I expected better from a stoic such as you!”

The Kid dismissed his friends teasing, and fell heavily into his chair, gesturing to the sun, which was dipping low in the sky. Rubbing a hand over his face, Wyatt glanced at the waning light, then the Grand Armoury.

Relaxing next to The Kid, the older mason looked longingly over to the barracks, where warm beds waited for them in futility.

“It’s going to be a long weekend, brother. I can feel it.”

~~~~

It was Sunday afternoon, and the two look-outs were in a heated argument, cautious over their next move.

“Look, Kid, all I’m saying is that if we push the position now, they won’t have more time to amass their forces, and we could catch them off guard!”

The Kid gave Wyatt a deadpan look, and shot him in the head with a finger-gun.

“Yeah, I know there’ll probably be casualties, but we’d get casualties anyway, right? Sacrifices have to be made!”

The younger boy groaned, rubbed the bandage around his hand in thought, and then pointed a finger at his friend’s chest.

“Me? No, I don’t want to die!” He looked at The Kid’s disbelieving face, and tried to regain his trust hastily.

“It’s not that I think their lives are worth less than mine, it’s just…” This was a hard decision, and it could cost them everything if they got it wrong.

They couldn’t afford to fail.

Looking warily at The Kid, he brought out his last ditch attempt to persuade him.

Pushing out his arm, with his hand held up, Wyatt spoke confidently.

“Brothers?”

The Kid rolled his eyes at the underhanded tactic, but grudgingly clasped Wyatt’s outstretched arm and hand.

_Till the very end._

Grinning, Wyatt pushed all of their character pieces on the board forward 5 spaces, engaging them in combat with the figurine army assembled there.

They were playing a role-playing game called “Gremlins and Grottos”, and as far as The Kid was concerned, they had just doomed themselves to failure. The Gremlins they were facing were too powerful to be facing without the proper levelling up.

Resigning himself to his characters death, The Kid pushed himself up from his seat and walked over to the cooler where they kept their supplies, opening the box and retrieving a flask of water.

Looking up at his friend’s movements, Wyatt called to him over the fictional battle that was occurring. “Hey, can you get me some water as well?”

Snorting at his laziness, The Kid shook his head.

“Why not?! Here I am, saving fictional lands from an unspeakable evil, and you can’t even be bothering picking up some water from **right next to you**!”

Smirking, The Kid took a long and slow drink from his flask, trickling the water into his mouth in front of Wyatt, torturing him.

“Aw, come on! You’re killing me here! What if I pass out from thirst? If I die, who’s going to save your ass every time you screw up?”

The Kid grinned mischievously, and starting kissing the air passionately in mimicry.

“Mia? I’m pretty sure my girlfriend would be more focused on her sister than you.” The Kid cocked an eyebrow, and waved his hand vaguely.

“How is it going with her? If I’m being honest, I don’t really know. After I saved her from the peckers in The Forges, I asked her out, and we’ve been dating ever since. But she keeps on trying to make it more and more serious. I don’t know, man, I just want to have fun; I’m 21 for Jevel’s sake! And that’s not even to mention that she doesn’t interact with me when we’re working. I mean, I get it, she wants to keep her work and personal life separate, but it hurts when she shrugs me off.”

Taking pity on him, The Kid threw the man a flask of water, which he snatched out of the air.

“Thanks. I guess I should just be happy that she and her sister got transferred with us when we moved here…” The Kid folded himself into a sitting position in front of the board, casting a healing spell on Wyatt’s character as he used Charm on a group of enemies.

Tapping his heart, The Kid glanced at his brother-in-arms meaningfully. “Do I love her? Yeah, guess I do, but that doesn’t mean…” Wyatt stopped, staring at The Kid’s amused expression.

“You knew? How?”

The Kid waggled his eyebrows suggestively, tapping his ear, making Wyatt blush and stutter.

“Y-Y-You could hear us? I mean, I know we were in the dormitory, but we always thought you were asleep! How did you hear us through the walls?”

The Kid doubled over laughing at his discomfort. Wyatt was stammering and scratching his neck nervously.

“Okay, I admit, I might have said some things in the heat of the moment... but she didn’t take them seriously!”

The Kid sniggered, and tapped his ring finger innocently. “Hey, I asked her that **one time**! And I was drunk and delirious at the time! She’d just shown me the time of my life!”

Gagging, The Kid made a disgusted face and shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of the images.

“Why are we always talking about **my** love life, anyway? What’s going on with you and Jane?” Wyatt nudged The Kid in the ribs teasingly, casing the boy to push him away playfully. “Do you have a crush on her, by any chance?”

The Kid cracked a smile at the older mason’s attempts to rile him up. It wasn’t going to work. “Oh, but I forgot, you’re in love with someone else, aren’t you? What was her name again? Nacie?”

The Kid stiffened, and glared at the victorious grin that Wyatt was sporting.

Okay, so maybe it **would** work.

“You know Kid, I never understood why you never asked her out. Were you too scared?”

The Kid growled deep in his throat. _I don’t get scared._

Wyatt chuckled at the sound, continuing. “Oh really? Because all I’m doing is stating observations. You liked her. She liked you. So why not- Whoa!”

Wyatt nimbly side-stepped a goblin figurine that was aimed at his head, and repositioned himself next to The Kid, patting his shoulder. “Now we’re even in terms of teasing, huh?”

The Kid sighed in agreement, reminiscing. He didn’t even have time to say goodbye to her when he left for The Walls, he was in too much of a rush. She deserved better than that, better than him. He had failed her, he had failed the promise they made to each other.

Wyatt shook his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Hey, you never know, you could set it right when we finish our shift on The Walls! A happily ever after, who doesn’t like those?”

They both looked over the view absentmindedly, when they simultaneously observed a cloaked figure jumping into a skylight on the roof of the Grand armoury.

Pointing at him, Wyatt chuckled. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say that guy doesn’t like them. Stealing the hard work of other people, how despicable!”

Wyatt grinned and jumped up, leaning over the edge of the platform they were situated on.

“Looks like we’ve found our man! Let’s go and catch him!”

Noticing a lack of movement from The Kid, Wyatt looked back and beckoned him over with a hand. “We’ll miss our window if we don’t move now. Are you coming or not?”

The Kid scrunched up his eyebrows, frowning at his friend. _We were told to **tail** him, not **catch** him._

Wyatt groaned. “And when have we ever done what we were told?”

The older man looked over The Kid, and let out a puff of air.

“Well, okay then, when have **I** ever done what I was told? And let’s be honest, you’re going to follow me anyway.” Crooking an eyebrow, Wyatt held out his hand for The Kid to grasp.

“Brothers stick together, after all.”

The Kid looked over to the armoury, and saw the skylight glinting as the Ura thief closed the window partially after him.

Gripping Wyatt’s arm firmly and pulling himself up, The Kid nodded his head.

_Till the very end._

Cracking a smile, Wyatt vaulted over the side of the building towards the street below.

* * *

 

Trailing after Wyatt reluctantly, The Kid scuffed the ground beneath his feet, grumbling. Wyatt was going to get them both confined to the barracks for at least a year!

Though, reviewing the situation, the older mason was right. There was no way that they would be able to keep up with an Ura insurgent in this mess of buildings. The Ura were notorious for being fast and nimble on their feet. There were even stories of particular individuals being able to teleport short distances.

If they **caught** the Ura, however, they would be allowed to question them and gain much more information, meaning their weekend of boredom wouldn’t all be for nothing. The sound of a third set of footsteps approaching caused The Kid to look up, brow creased in worry.

It was a Graver. Damn.

The official had already noticed Wyatt, but The Kid, with a smaller form, was hidden from his view by Wyatt’s larger frame. Wyatt growled, and signalled to The Kid to hide.

Ducking into an alleyway, the boy surveyed the scene with baited breath.

~~~~

“What are you doing here? This area is closed off, Head Marshal’s orders! You can’t be here!”

The Kid crept around the side of the building separating him from the Graver. He needed to get behind the man and knock him out before the thief in the Armoury got away.

Dashing silently across the street behind the official, The Kid crouched behind a box of army carbines waiting to be shipped into the armoury, and hefted his Life-long friend from his back.

Wyatt, spotting The Kid in position to strike, attempted to distract the target.

“I, uh, I didn’t know that, I, uh, I think I’m lost. Uhh… do you know where I am by any chance?”

The Graver didn’t buy his excuse for one second. Taking a step back, the guard narrowed his eyes.

“You’re carrying a Cael hammer. You’re a Mason, aren’t you?!” The Kid quickened his pace towards the Graver, scampering across the cobblestone street. If he didn’t get there soon, things could get ugly.

The guard snarled at Wyatt, spitting in his face. “You low-lifes always think that just because this is your turf, you can do what you want. But I’ll tell you what, freak. Us Gravers are going to take over your stupid jobs sooner or later. You’re redundant now. The War is over, and the Ura are as good as finished. The Wall doesn’t need to be maintained anymore.”

The official grinned sadistically. “You Masons hurt my friends in that bar fight recently. Let me show you what we Gravers do to our enemies.”

Hearing the Graver crack his knuckles, The Kid rushed the rest of the distance, lifting his hammer over his head for a Stunning Wallop. The Graver turned around in a spin, and grabbed The Kid by the throat, lifting him up off the ground with one arm.

Choking the boy, The Graver brought the younger mason’s face close to his own. “You think I didn’t notice you, **child**? Gravers know to be aware of their surroundings. It’s just like a Mason to resort to such cowardly tactics to win.”

Taking advantage of the distraction, Wyatt wrapped one arm around the Gravers throat in a flash, held his head still with the other arm, and whispered into his ear.

“If we’re giving out fighting tips, how about this one: Don’t turn your back on your opponent.” The Graver released The Kid, scrabbling at Wyatt’s chokehold and attempting to release the pressure.

Seizing the chance, The Kid surged forward, pinching the guard’s nose and covering his mouth, so that he couldn’t take in any more air. Silently watching the official fall into unconsciousness, Wyatt and The Kid grinned at each other. A flawless team. Eventually, the graver stopped moving, and the two of them let the man slump to floor.

Wyatt grimaced, kicking some dust over the unconscious body, and turned around quickly. “Who knows how much time that cost us! Forget the Graver, we have to stop that thief!”

~~~~

Sprinting toward the armoury, Wyatt hoisted his Hammer from the harness on his back, and smashed it into the metal door that was the entrance to the building. A deafening boom rang through the air, but the attack hadn’t made a dent.

Wyatt cursed The Gods, looking around for another entrance frantically. Seeing a window high up the front wall, The Kid gestured to it, causing Wyatt to pull a face.

“No time to be subtle.”

Swinging his hammer around in a circle, Wyatt flung it through the window in a crash, shattering the glass and causing a cacophony of noise as the weapon hit various metal objects in quick succession.

Wincing at the sound, Wyatt interlocked his hands, and put his back against the wall beneath the now broken window. “Come on, get in there and open the door! He’s going to want to scarper as soon as possible after hearing that!”

Running quickly at Wyatt, The Kid jumped up and placed a foot in his palm, which Wyatt then lifted up swiftly, launching The Kid into the air.

If it were an adult, Wyatt would not have been able to throw them up as far as needed. But The Kid was young, and was much lighter than the average man.

The force of the throw sent The Kid hurtling skywards, and directly through the smashed window, a shard of the glass catching on the boy’s tunic, ripping the side thinly and narrowly missing The Kid’s stomach. Tucking into a roll at the close call, the younger mason crashed face first into a box of shell casings. 

It looked like skyway jumps weren’t the only thing he was spectacularly bad at landing from.

Spitting a cartridge from his mouth, The Kid pulled himself out of the crate, spilling onto the floor in front of Wyatt’s Cael Hammer. Pushing himself up, the boy ruffled his hair, picked up the hammer, and jogged over to the front door, opening it wide.

Rushing in, Wyatt took his hammer and strapped it to his back, looking over to The Kid in question.

The boy shook his head. _No sign of him._

Wyatt looked around and spotted the skylight that the insurgent had entered though. There was still a rope dangling freely from it. “Well, he hasn’t left, at least. But he **must** have heard us, so stay on guard.”

The Kid growled at the coddling. Like he needed to be told how to do his job.

The duo creeped around the shadowed piles of weapons lining the armoury, glancing around warily.

The winds from the open skylight whispered around them, blowing softly in their ears so that they turned quickly at the sound.

The shadows behind the shelves danced and glimmered within the rays of sunlight beaming down.

The Kid held his hand up to shade his eyes and hopefully get a better look at the movement. An Ura was no regular opponent. They were an elite war force that could bring entire platoons to their knees with mere halberds and crossbows. Even one **thief** was sure to give the 2 brothers more than a fair fight.

Footsteps flitted across the floor to the right of them, and the masons snapped their heads to the noise quickly, listening intently.

A weapon scraped against the ground lightly behind them.

They twisted around frantically, weapons ready.

The Kid heard delicate breathing in his ear, as a wet nail scratched along his neck.

Growling, The Kid swung around wildly, hitting nothing but a gust of air left in the wake of the Ura’s movements.

Colours burst in front of his vision at he tried to track the insurgent’s path. The Kid staggered around recklessly, leaning heavily against the shelves lining the row they were walking down.

“Kid! Hey, Kid! What the hell are you doing?” Wyatt’s voice seemed so far away, muted, like hearing someone through a wall.

 _Wha-What’s happening to me?_ The Kid held his head tightly to try and slow the spinning, and felt blood trickle down his collar from where he was scratched by the insurgent’s fingernail.

Dabbing a finger to it and bringing it in front of his increasingly delirious vision, The Kid choked on his breath and held the drop up to Wyatt, who commented in low tones.

“Venom.”

The Kid nodded up at him in agreement, only for the light spilling into the warehouse to explode throughout his eyesight, blinding him. The Kid fell directly into a shelf, pushing it over and burying him under the metal.

Slowly, the younger mason regained his sight, and looked on helplessly as the scene unfolding before him. Wyatt’s face took up most of his view, shouting something to him. His brother’s face seemed blurred, and the whole world was vibrating at unfathomable speeds behind him, making it hard to focus on anything at all.

“–p –ow –ease –id!” Wyatt’s voice reverberated through the air, but The Kid couldn’t distinguish the words from the rushing in his ears.

The gloom behind Wyatt flickered, and a shadow slithered up behind him, a knife whirling in its palm. The Kid tried to speak, to point to the danger, but nothing happened.

The Ura’s venom had paralyzed him completely. It took all of his willpower to even keep breathing.

Wyatt, luckily, noticed The Kid’s fixation on something behind him, and turned around quickly with his hammer drawn just in time to block a blow from the blade.

Pushing the cloaked figure back with force, Wyatt lunged forward and tackled the Ura into a shelf of Carbine Rifles. Bouncing up with a grin, the Mason called over to The Kid again. This time, The Kid could read his lips clearly.

“Snap out of it!”

If The Kid had the ability to groan, he would have. Paralysis wasn’t the easiest thing to just **get over**.

The shock of the fall was starting to wear off, and The Kid regained control of his senses once more. He could see Wyatt clearly, lifting the Ura up easily above his head, and driving the intruder back down into a suplex. Rolling away from the impact, the thief snarled at Wyatt, clawing at their now-skewed headscarf, throwing the garment to the side.

It was a woman.

Wyatt blinked. “I… was not expecting that.”

The thief snapped at him, angry at his inaction. “ **Now** you hesitate to fight? Just because I’m female? Pathetic!” She launched at Wyatt, teeth bared.

Flicking his eyes to The Kid, Wyatt knit his brow. “Are you seeing a weirdly intense person trying to kill me? I’m not just going insane?”

Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed the Ura’s forearms before they reached his chest, pulled back his own fist, and punched the insurgent hard in the face, knocking her back into a shelf, which rattled worryingly from the impact.

The woman shrieked at Wyatt, throwing a Gel Canister from the debris on the floor at him, which he dodged promptly, eyes wide. “Lady, you need to **CALM DOWN!** ”

The thief ignored his remark, and grabbed his shirt, dragging him down with her. The two combatants rolled around on the floor in a stalemate, giving Wyatt ample time to wind up his opponent.

“Okay, I know I’m irresistible, but this-oof, this kind of touching is scandalous! I just-OW! -just don’t think I’m in the mood for some ‘grappling’ right now, if you know what I mean-argh!”

The woman kicked Wyatt across the floor after the last remark, fuming. The two jumped to their feet, and Wyatt licked a fleck of blood from his lip with a smirk.

“Are you hitting on me?” He winked charmingly at the thief. “I think you are!” Shrugging, he feigned regret. “Alas! I already have a girlfriend. You’re too late!”

The insurgent erupted in rage. “I’d never want to be involved with the likes of you! You and your people don’t deserve to live on this world! You… You…” She pointed at Wyatt with scorn. “You are a Cancer!”

Wyatt frowned, a grin playing on the edge of his mouth.

“But I’m a Gemini, not Cancer!” He threw back his head in laughter, savouring the look of outrage on his opponents face.

“Do not mock me, Cancer!” She cried out. “I can bring you down without even trying! I know your weakness!”

Wyatt looked at her curiously, eyebrow cocked. “Chocolate cake?”

The Ura squinted at him, baffled. “Umm… no.” She tried to regain her bearings. “Your **other** weakness!”

Scratching his head, Wyatt was the innocent portrayal of a hopeful face. “Romantic comedies?”

Realizing that Wyatt was making a fool of her, the insurgent brought out throwing knifes from the depths of her clothes, flinging them at him quickly.

Weaving in and out of the blades, Wyatt blew a kiss to his assailant.

Grinding her teeth, she taunted him. “Speed won’t help you survive!”

Wyatt snickered, and dashed out of her reach. “That’s what slow people say!”

“You think that reprehensible sense of humour makes you attractive?” The insurgent kicked Wyatt in the ribs brutally, leaving him gasping for air.

Rubbing his chest, Wyatt quirked his lips. “Well, if that doesn’t work, there’s always my good looks and my charm.”

Dancing around his opponent’s ferocious slashes, Wyatt called over to The Kid with a wide smile.

“Hey, do you want to get takeout later?”

The Kid yelled in his mind, trying to tell Wyatt to stop being cocky and focus on the fight, but it was too late.

Taking advantage of Wyatt’s momentary diversion, the woman swept his legs from under him, and threw her dagger at his heart. Recovering quickly, the older mason drew his arm up sharply in front of his torso, so that the throwing knife embedded deeply into the flesh of his appendage.

Shouting out in pain, he struck his leg at the Ura’s chest, sending her light body flying into the darkness at the end of the aisle. Wrenching the implement out of its wound, Wyatt threw the weapon to the side and limped over to The Kid.

“B-B-Brother.” Wyatt’s eyes flickered in fear. “You’ve got to get up-p-p. That dagger must have been coated with… venom.”

The Kid’s friend struggled to get his words out coherently, shivering at an unnoticeable cold.

“I can feel it seeping through my veins like i-i-ice. So… cold.” The two masons widened their eyes in dread as a vicious grunt was heard from the rippling shadows.

Muttering urgently, Wyatt slipped off his harness and hammer, setting them aside.

“Look, Kid, I can’t fight her like this, especially with a heavy w-w-weapon. I **n-n-need** you to get up. I’m about to collapse here. This venom is d-d-dragging me under.”

He lurched to the side, and was promptly sick into a stray Trigger helmet.

“ **Please** get up.” A single tear formed, freezing into solid ice as it left Wyatt’s eye. What was the venom **doing** to him!?

“I-I don’t think I want to die yet.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, tightening his jaw.

“ **Not yet.** ”

Staring at the passive form of his younger friend, Wyatt bit the inside of his cheek.

“Kid’s these days. Have to do everything…” He fell heavily onto one knee, looking up as the insurgent loped easily out of her hiding place. “…yourself.”

The Ura circled Wyatt’s teetering form, goading him. “Can you feel it, Cancer? The antibiotic I have gifted you, flowing through your blood? A special recipe I concocted myself, from the elusive Shiverthorn. Soon, the disease of you Caelondians will be cured. You will all be eradicated from this land.”

Wyatt threw a wild haymaker, which the thief skirted around with ease.

“I can see my compound doing its work. Can you feel the deadly winter infecting you? Don’t you feel sleeeppyyy?” The woman’s voice seemed so melodic and inviting. “Wouldn’t it be so much easier to just lie down in a warm cocoon and forget about everything, never to wake up?”

Drowsily, Wyatt nodded in agreement, before catching sight of The Kid’s immobile form, and slapped himself across the face, his teeth chattering. “NO! No. It’s up to me. I have to stop y-y-you…”

Laughing at her victim’s plight, the Ura slipped a knapsack off her shoulder and emptied its contents onto a pile of scrap objects. The Caelondians stared in horror at the device that clattered innocently on the scrap heap.

A bomb. An honest to Gods bomb.

The Insurgent wasn’t here to steal more weapons. She was here to blow the whole block of buildings to Jevel’s Tower.

Wyatt swore and stumbled forward urgently, hoping to destroy the contraption before it was armed. The insurgent bounded away from his reach, preparing the machine deftly, then tossed the explosive onto The Kid’s chest.

“Do you recognize how futile your struggle is now, Cancer? I’m going to bring this monument to The City’s ego down upon your heads.” She clenched her hand for added effect. “With 90% of the City’s weapons torched, you Caelondians will be unable to protect yourselves from our cleansing.”

Watching Wyatt’s state deteriorate, the insurgent threw her weapon to the side. “I don’t even need the knife.”

“If you’re not using it, could I… borrow it by any… c-c-chance?”

Wyatt’s left eye wasn’t working, and his hearing started to become muffled. The colours of the Armoury seemed to mix and swirl, causing the older mason to lurch backwards.

The insurgent chuckled at Wyatt’s actions, speaking in low, sultry tones as to lure him into death. “Give in to it, Cancer. You are beaten. You are dying, my bomb is armed, and your partner is paralyzed.” Wyatt shook forcibly, his heartbeat halted by artificial frostbite.

“As much as you may try, Cancer, you cannot defy death. It is The Pantheon’s will.”

The insurgent looked down upon Wyatt as he crumpled onto his knees, his breath frost.

All was lost.

~~~~

The Ura kicked Wyatt’s body so that it rolled over, his head facing her.

“You have failed.”

And then, Wyatt’s crackling voice spoke out weakly, humour lacing his tone.

“A bit like… your weight loss… program….”

The Kid stared in disbelief as Wyatt struggled to his feet, sniggering. His skin was pale blue, snowflake-like patterns spiralling across his face.

The Kid couldn’t comprehend it. _How is he **surviving** , let alone **moving**?_

“Screw death.” The Kid heard his friend popping his knuckles, and winced in sympathy. It sounded like ice shattering.

“Screw the bloody Pantheon.” Wyatt strode heavily over to the insurgent, leaving ice crystals hanging in the air behind him.

The Ura backed away, astonished. “You can’t just get up! You can’t still be alive! It’s just not possible! You have to be dead! You **CAN’T**!”

Wyatt grabbed her by the collar and punched her in the gut. “I **CAN** , and I **WILL**.” Pulling on the back of her hair, so that his mouth was level to her ear, he spoke forcefully.

“I can do **whatever** I want. I only follow orders that I deem worth following. That’s what most people don’t understand. I don’t give a damn what anyone else says, I do what **I** want, not what other people want me to do!”

The Kid started to feel his body responding to his commands once again as the venom was worked out of his system, and dragged himself up to his knees. Wyatt slammed the insurgents head onto his knee, causing her brain to hit her skull, knocking her out instantly.

Walking with faltering steps, he let her drop to the floor, moving over to The Kid slowly, arm outstretched.

“Brother… I’m cold. So… cold…”

The Kid boy scooped the bomb off the floor next to him, bringing it over to his friend with effort. The venom was still affecting him.

He looked wide-eyed at Wyatt, hoping to garner some assistance.

_I don’t know how to disarm a bomb!_

Wyatt laid a hand on The Kid’s shoulder, speaking with a sleepy voice.

“Do you want to save The City?” The Kid jerked his head in affirmation.

_Of course I do!_

“Then stop the bomb. Don’t listen to logic, don’t listen to The Gods. Don’t listen to anyone but yourself.”

The Kid screwed up his face at the words. A motivational speech wasn’t going to help him stop a block of buildings from being wiped off the map. Grimacing, The Kid gestured with his hands frantically.

_I can’t stop it, I’m not a genius! It’s impossible!_

Wyatt snorted at the admission on The Kid’s face, cracking a smile. “I-I-Impossible? N-N-No… never impossible. Only… **Improbable**.”

He let out a freezing breath, causing light snow to form in the air between their faces, then collapsed completely, his skin turning a deathly white.

Improbable…

Perhaps.

The Kid flicked his eyes to the timer on the explosive.

4 minutes, 48 seconds.

He tried to feel for a pulse on Wyatt’s body. It was there. Weak, but still beating.

The Kid examined the area, hoping to find something to help him in his objective. Darting around the piles of debris that had been pushed over in the fight, he came to a stop in front of a wooden rack that had fallen over, dumping its safeguard onto the floor.

A Bullhead Shield.

The clock hands of the bomb ticked innocently out of the corner of his eyes.

3 minutes, 25 seconds.

The Shields were legendary throughout the lands. Impenetrable, and rare beyond belief, they were rumoured to be created from the hide of The Wakeful Bull himself.

If the Kid could potentially lay the Shield over the bomb, the explosive would be neutralized. No matter the power of the detonation, nothing would be able to break through the fabled metal’s defence.

The Armoury would be safe, and any attack from the insurgents on The City could be neutralized with its weapons.

Only one problem.

Unless you were standing trial at Bullhead Court, the Shields could only be picked up and used by the worthy. Not even machines or explosions could move them from their positions.

Throughout the decades, many individuals debated how The Wakeful Bull determined who was ‘worthy’ to wield such an invaluable tool.

What characteristics would one have to express?

Stubborness? A pure heart? Or perhaps the individual merely had to be at peace with themselves?

The Kid didn’t know.

The Kid didn’t care.

He wasn’t any of those things. But he **needed** that shield.

The clicks of the timer filled his ears.

2 minutes, 8 seconds.

Tugging on the straps of the shield with all his strength, The Kid grunted at the strain.

It wasn’t budging.

A godly voice filled his head, snorting in derision at his attempts.

**“You are not worthy of my Shield, Silent One. Cease this struggle.”**

Stamping his feet, The Kid tried again, ignoring Pyth’s comments.

**“You cannot lift this burden. I will not allow it.”**

Gritting his teeth, The Kid didn’t give up. Caelondia was counting on him!

**“The City is of no concern to me. No form of Calamity will sway my will.”**

The Kid groaned. _Wyatt was right._ He thought. _The Gods are the biggest pile of dungweed ever to exist._

The deity didn’t take kindly to that.

**“DO NOT INSULT ME, SILENT ONE. MY POWER IS LIMITLESS, I AM ANARCHY AND FURY INCARNATE. I COULD SMITE YOU WITH A THOUGHT, INSOLENT CHILD.”**

The Kid narrowed his eyes.

Oh, how he hated that word.

What did Wyatt say? “ _Don’t listen to logic, don’t listen to The Gods. Don’t listen to anyone but yourself.”_

Pyth hadn’t done anything to help The Kid in the past. Why should he listen to the cranky old bull now?

The Kid didn’t care if he wasn’t worthy of lifting the shield. He was going to wield it anyway.

He **wanted to** pick it up, and so he was **going to** pick it up.

Pyth thundered in his mind. “ **YOU CANNOT DEFY MY WILL, CHILD! GIVE UP THIS FUTILE ENDEAVOUR. I ORDER IT.”**

The Kid was finished with taking orders. Everyone thought they could push him around, just because he was young. They thought they could tell him what to do.

_Stay in school, don’t retaliate to bullies, don’t sign up to The Walls, build this structure, guard this, guard that, stand in formation, clean the barracks!_

From now on, he only obeyed orders if they were worth his time.

No more submitting to other people’s will.

**No more.**

Digging his heels into the ground, The Kid yanked on the Bullhead Shield with all his might, fighting against The Bull’s power.

But The Kid had resolve like no other. He wasn’t going to submit to a God.

Tugging and straining, he could feel his tendons tearing. His bones creaked from the strain, cracking under the pressure.

His right shoulder popped, and white-hot pain coursed across The Kid’s chest.

His shoulder was dislocated.

He felt his arm fall limp beside him, but he didn’t give up.

He could see the timer glaring at him with fierce intensity, mocking his uselessness.

41 seconds.

Tears streaming down his face, The Kid screamed in agony, and ripped the shield from the ground with his remaining hand.

Pyth howled in his mind. **“NO! IMPOSSIBLE!”**

_No, not impossible._

**_Improbable_ ** _._

For the first time in history, a mortal had defied a God.

The laws of nature had been broken, and nature wasn’t happy it had been thwarted.

Ozone filled the air in an overwhelming stench, and there was an explosion of force, bursting The Kid’s eardrums, causing him to careen backwards and trip over Wyatt’s unconscious form.

Disorientated and desperate, The Kid flapped his arms around to look for the bomb; only to spot that it too had been thrown back by the blast.

The second hand was 8 ticks from its destination.

Heaving himself up, he dragged the shield across the floor frantically with his working arm, the remains of the venom coursing through his body faltering his steps.

3 seconds.

Surging his arm forward, The Kid threw the shield forward the rest of the way, landing on top of the device neatly, covering it completely.

Always was a crack shot, that boy.

He knees weakened, and The Kid fell onto his back, staring up at the skylight once more.

The ground tremored beneath him as the bomb detonated harmlessly.

He yawned earnestly as his adrenaline wore off. The day had taken its toll on him, and he hissed every time he shifted, his dislocated shoulder twinging in protest.

He and Wyatt had beat up a few Gravers, broken into a government building, fought  for their lives under the influence of deadly venom, stopped a conspiracy from destroying Caelondia, caught an insurgent for questioning, and hey, he’d even got a souvenir!

The Kid closed his eyes and snoozed, a smile on his face.

Overall, a pretty good weekend.

* * *

 

To the duo’s surprise, Temper was actually **pleased** with their accomplishments.

After shouting at them for disobeying his direct orders, he eventually agreed wholeheartedly that they did the best for The City with the decisions that they made.

“We have the Insurgent in custody, and while I’d imagine that The Authorities will want to retrieve the prisoner for themselves, I can now confidently tell them that we can handle ourselves, thanks to you two.”

The Marshal clasped the two of them on the shoulder. “Have the week off. Mother knows you’ve earned it.”

He dismissed them, and the two masons strolled out of his office leisurely, only to be assaulted by two women. Mia and Jane.

Wyatt spoke with bravado at the sight of them. “The conquering heroes ret-mpphh!”

Mia had rushed up to Wyatt in a flash, and kissed him without hesitation. Surprised by the greeting, Wyatt’s eyes grew wide, and his arms flailed aimlessly at his sides.

Eventually pushing her away gently, he coughed awkwardly. “Uh, babe, you do know that we’re in public, right?” Mia blushed, but shook her head forcefully. “I don’t care who knows anymore. I was so worried about you!”

Catching Wyatt’s triumphant grin at her admission, she hardened her gaze. “The Menders said you almost died as a human popsicle. That could only happen to you.”

Wyatt responded quickly to her insult. “I could never stay like that. I’m way too hot!”

Laughing at his own joke, Wyatt ignored the rest of the group groaning at his humour, sweeping Mia up into another kiss.

Jane punched The Kid in the arm, grinning from ear to ear. “Word on the street is that you’ve procured a mythical artefact from your adventure… Can I see it?”

The Kid pulled his prize out of thin air, and held it up for his friend to examine. The Bullhead Shield had the strange property of showing up only when it was summoned. When it wasn’t it being used, it seemed to fade into nothing, and couldn’t be found anywhere on The Kid’s person. He assumed it was merely another ethereal property of the metal.

The Kid watched as Jane attempted to pick up the safeguard from his hands without success. It seemed as if The Kid was the only one capable of lifting it. No one else seemed to be able to defy the Gods as he had.

He could have sworn that he had seen Wyatt shift it around when they were in a Mender’s tent together, but his brother had stopped his movements as soon as he saw The Kid looking. When he had asked his friend about it later, Wyatt denied it, and said that the residual venom in his system was probably giving him hallucinations.

The Kid wasn’t so sure.

Jane relinquished the shield back to him, and fiddled with a Trappers snare that she had brought out of her pocket.

“So, do you guys want to celebrate our reunion? Me and Mia are just dying to tell you two about our weekend!”

The brothers-in-arms looked at each other in bewilderment, then back at their female companions.

“Olak!” Mia stared at them in wonder. “No one told you yet? Well, have we got a story for you!”

Jane’s eyes gleamed, waving her arms around animatedly. “It includes whales and skydiving!”

Mia interjected with excitement. “Ambushes, infiltration!”

“Smoke bombs!”

“Drinking contests!”

The two looked at each other in delight, and cheered together.

“Treasure!”

The Kid raised an eyebrow at their antics, while Wyatt scratched his head in confusion.

“Sounds like you girls have got us beat in the ‘Badass story’ department” he sighed, slumping in defeat.

Mia patted him on the arm slowly, giggling. “There, there, it’ll be okay! Come on, let’s go get a drink, and we can swap tales?” She winked at him slyly “And if you need comforting, well, we can do that as well.”

Wyatt slipped out of her grip smoothly, and motioned for the sisters to move on without them. “You two go on ahead. We’ll catch up. I just want to talk to The Kid for a second.”

Shrugging, the women turned and jogged down the path to The Sole Regret and out of sight, leaving the masons alone to talk.

~~~~

Elsewhere, in the very bowels of The City, a clandestine meeting was taking place.

Secrets and plans were discussed in whispers over a crackling fire. A messenger burst into the room, sending cloaks aflutter.

“Sir! Sir! I have word from our inside source!” He cried, scurrying over to a large and prominent figure. The shadowed leader turned to the courier almost imperceptibly.

Taking this as a cue to speak, the messenger rushed his words.

“The Armoury mission was a failure, and our operative was captured, Sir! We are attempting to extract her as we speak, but we cannot be sure of the probability of success.”

The mysterious character spoke in a low tone. “How did this happen?”

The messenger’s voice wavered. “There was an… unexpected element. A young male who, from the reports of our operative, foiled the whole plan.”

From beneath the cloak, the voice rose in volume. “What is his name? We must be rid of this annoyance.”

Bringing a note out of his pocket, the courier read the writing aloud.

“Wyatt.”

~~~~

The two masons stood in the sunlight spilling across The Rippling Walls, taking in the livelihoods that they had saved.

Wyatt clapped The Kid on the back, chuckling. “You did it brother! You broke the rules!” He looked at The Kid, dubious. “I didn’t think you could actually do it. You know, with you being a goody-two-shoes and all!”

Dodging a jab to the stomach, he only laughed even harder. “Trying to hit me? Disobeying orders? I think I might be rubbing off on you!” The Kid eyed him critically. “Yeah, I guess my bad influence **did** do some good in the end. Ridiculing a God… Damn, I wouldn’t want to mess with you.”

In what seemed to be a surprising streak this weekend, Wyatt was right once again.

No one would cross The Kid again, that’s for sure. Even The Pantheon was afraid of him now, of what he could accomplish.

The Kid used to think that he was fated to meet some miserable end that The Gods had decided for him at his birth.

But now? Now he had wrestled control back into his own hands. He did what he wanted.

He was in command of his own destiny.

Wyatt stepped up to his side, and lent an arm on his shoulder. “You know Kid, limits, like fears, are often an illusion. You’re going to do great things, and I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Holding out a hand for him to grasp, The Kid looked up at Wyatt in admiration. The man had taught him something valuable.

_Brothers?_

Wyatt winked, and grabbed The Kid’s hand firmly.

“Till the very end.”

* * *

 

_“So you see, Zia, The Kid learnt that if he wanted to do something, he could. Nothing could stop him. If he wants to be commanding and imposing, he will, and if he wants to be calm and caring, he will. He doesn’t need to stick to a single way of life like most people.”_

_I pointed to the entrance of the Bastion with my cane. “And if he wants to return from his voyage into The Wilds, he will. Nothing will stop him from achieving his desire. No plant, no animal, and certainly no damn God.”_

_Her eyes shining, Zia smiled widely at my reassurance. However, she had a question. “What about Mia and Jane’s adventure? Can I hear about that?”_

_Stroking my moustache, I looked up at a movement at the edge of my vision._

_“Maybe another time, Zia…” I replied, as an Ura man revealed himself from the tent opposite me._

_Stepping into the firelight, the diplomat shuffled awkwardly. Twiddling his thumbs, he gestured to me in an attempt to divert attention. “I couldn’t help but overhear your story…”_

_I waved to one of the many logs surrounding the campfire, and Zulf sat down gratefully. I held no ill-will towards the Ura. I may have been annoyed with him to start with, but hate is something that loses its appeal as you get older. Everybody makes mistakes._

_Garmuth knows I’ve made **my** fair share._

_Zia didn’t seem to share my sentiment. She faced pointedly away from Zulf, a frown donning her face. She was probably still bitter from the man almost getting The Kid killed by arrows. Her judgement always **was** clouded when it came to that boy. _

_Zulf noticed this attitude, and focused his attention on me. “So, if all it takes is for The Kid to **want** something, what makes him **want** to come back here?”_

_Looking sideways at the young girl sitting next to me, a teasing grin slid onto my face. “Why, this fine young lady right here, right Zia?”_

_I forced her out of her brooding with a playful nudge in the side, causing her to look up at me with eyes narrowed._

_“There’s nothing he wants more than to see you again. You’re what brings him home. The thought of you.”_

_Rolling her eyes at my ribbing, she pushed at me lightly, blushing ferociously._

_“It’s not funny to joke, Rucks!” she pouted. “We both know he’s more of a loner… The strong, silent type, you know!”_

_She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear in embarrassment while I shared a look of amusement with Zulf._

_“And besides, he really only interacts with you, unless he’s brought back a new animal companion.” Realising that dismay had leaked into her admission, she attempted to save face._

_“I mean, of course I’d like to interact with him more, but where would you even start a conversation with someone like him?”_

_She sagged, dejected. “Sometimes, I think he just tolerates me…”_

_I chortled at her inane rambling, clearing my throat to get her attention once more._

_“Don’t be so ridiculous, Zia. He’s just shy. He likes you more than he could ever like me or Zulf. Let me tell you why.”_

_I leaned over the fire, so that its light flickered across my face._

_“Let me tell you how The Kid got his Bandanna.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if I get a beta reader, I’ll probably be quicker with updating, but I can’t make any promises. I’ll try my best, you have to trust me on that.
> 
> Also, I’m pretty sure I put a quote in there, but I don’t know what it was, or who it was from, so if you know and find it, tell me and I’ll mark it, since i'm not really a fan of plagiarizing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the story!  
> If you want, feel free to check out my other works, and like always, Comments and Kudos would be much appreciated, I would really like it if i could get some feedback and maybe some constructive criticism to try and improve on. But again, I’m not going to force you.


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